


Twisted: Book One

by Catalina21



Series: Twisted [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), BUT ALSO HAPPY, Child Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, Harry Potter is a girl, Internalized Homophobia, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Rape, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catalina21/pseuds/Catalina21
Summary: What if Harry Potter was a girl? What if the Dursleys punishments consisted of more than just malnutrition and neglect? It's Aimee Potter's first year at Hogwarts and something is awry. A giant three headed dog on the third floor? Trolls breaking into the school? How will she go about her first journey facing the Dark Lord?





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I have been searching for a fic like this for a while, with no luck, so I decided to write one myself. I hope you enjoy, and feedback is encouraged.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING**
> 
> This story does consist of child abuse and rape.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything you recognize, all those rights go to JKR :)
> 
> Hi guys! I've just been rereading this work and I've done a bit of editing and fine tuning. The story is still the same, however there are a few added scenes, but nothing all that important to the plot. I did add a character, but she is just a friend to Aimee, and, as of right now, not super important. We'll see what happens later :)
> 
> This work has been edited and reposted the 20th of April, 2020.

Darkness. It’s what I’m used to. My cupboard doesn’t have a light bulb. Petunia removed it when I was very little. As a punishment, I think. She never returned it, but I doubt she forgot. Freaks don’t deserve light. The door shuts, tight. I lay down on the threadbare blankets that double as my bed and sigh softly. My stomach hurts from lack of food, and my back aches from Vernon’s most recent outburst of anger. I flip over to my other side, even though it's excruciating. I like facing the door. It makes me feel safer, more aware of my surroundings. It’ll still be awhile before I fall asleep.

I wake to the sound of steps on the stairs above me. They’re heavier, so it must be Vernon. I stay put. My uncle doesn’t like it when he’s up before me, but he likes it even less when he has to see me. I’ll wait until he’s immersed in the news to start breakfast.

After a good ten minutes, I think it’s safe to come out. Sure enough, Vernon is on the couch, sipping his coffee, eyes glued to the television. I sneak around the counter and start the eggs and bacon as quietly as I can. Vernon sniffs. He must smell the bacon. 

“Are you up, freak?” I nod, then remember he isn’t looking at me.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon, sir.” Vernon keeps his gaze on the T.V.

“Took you long enough. Is my breakfast almost ready?” I check the bacon. It’s a perfect crispy brown.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon, sir.” I grab a plate from the cupboard and dish some eggs onto it.

“Well? Where is it? Don’t keep me waiting, you ungrateful whelp.” I quickly grab a few slices of bacon and place them on the plate. I bring the meal to my uncle, who’s eyes haven’t moved from the screen since he sat down.

“Here it is, Uncle Vernon, sir.” I set the plate on the small coffee table in the center of the living room, keeping my eyes on the floor. Vernon grabs the fork and begins scarfing down his breakfast. I head back to the kitchen and fix myself the usual cup of tea and dry toast. Aunt Petunia and Dudley come down sometime later, and I fix them a breakfast quite similar to Vernon’s, but Petunia’s with a slice of mango, to help her feel “healthy.”

Once the three of them are seated on the couch, eyes glued to the telly, I return to my cupboard to try and finish my schoolwork. I leave the door open slightly, so that a sliver of light gets in. I can’t see very well, but it’s good enough. About a half hour later the television shuts off, and I quickly shut the door to my cupboard, and get dressed. Most of my clothes used to be Dudley’s, and about ten sizes too big, but I’ll take what I get. Petunia and Vernon are being generous, even giving me those. Freaks don’t deserve nice things, like clothes, or light.

I comb through my long red hair with a brush Petunia threw out years ago. I hurriedly clean up the dishes while the Dursleys get dressed, and then I wait in my cupboard until Dudley is ready to walk to the bus stop. I keep my head down and let my cousin walk ahead of me. No need to provoke him before school. And I certainly don’t need another lashing after last night. It hurts to walk, but I manage, without even wincing. Years of this treatment at the Dursleys has made me rather numb to the side effects. I’ve learned how to keep things hidden, and how to move without wincing.

The bus arrives about thirty seconds after Dudley and I get to the corner. I climb on after my cousin, and make my way to the back. It’s startling when, a few minutes later, a girl I’ve never seen before sits down next to me. She has brown hair and a single freckle right by her left eyebrow. She smiles brightly.

“Hi! I’m Lucy. Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is taken.” She has a strange accent which I recognize as Irish from some of the films Dudley watches. I shrug, which she seems to take as a yes. 

“Thanks!” she says.

I shrug again, and turn to look out the window. She shouldn’t even be talking to me. Dudley’s gonna have it out for Lucy when he sees us together. No one needs that, especially the new kid on her first day at school. Seeing that I’m not up for talking, Lucy takes out a book and reads until we get to school. Then she tries to start up another conversation.

“So what teacher do you have? I have Mr. Schadt.” I frown. That’s who I have, too. I nod. Lucy smiles again. 

“Oh, you have him, too?” I nod. “Wonderful!” she exclaims. “I’m so glad to have met you,…” Lucy trails off, realizing I never told her my name.

“Aimee.” I say softly. Lucy puts her hands to her face.

“Oh, my God. You talk! Thank goodness. I really didn’t want to have to play 20 questions on that one.” Lucy holds out her hand. I shake it reluctantly. “Nice to meet you, Aimee. I can already tell. We’re going to be great friends.” I shake my head.

“You shouldn’t be friends with me, Lucy.” Lucy frowns.

“Why not?” she asks. I shrug, not wanting to say that Dudley will beat the hell out of the both of us if he found out his freak cousin made a friend.

“It’s just not a good idea.” Lucy’s frown deepens.

“Why not?” she repeats. I walk into the classroom.

“Just trust me on this one, okay? Please.” I take my seat at the back of the class. Unfortunately, the seat next to me is open, and Lucy slips into it. She opens her mouth to respond, but the last bell rings, and she falls silent. I sigh in relief. Unfortunately, Dudley seems to have seen me talking to Lucy. He glares at me with a sort of evil smile from across the room. I flinch and turn my gaze down to my desk. I know I’ll get the cane from Vernon tonight. Stupid freak made a friend. Dudley and his gang will probably come after me, as well. Hopefully they’ll leave Lucy alone. She doesn’t know I’m a freak, and that freaks don’t deserve friends. When lunch comes around I keep my head down and hurry to the cafeteria. The Dursleys don’t give me any lunch money, but I can usually snag an unwanted sandwich from the Sharing Table. I take a seat in the corner of my usual table. I almost jump outta my seat when someone plops their lunch down across from me. No surprise, it’s Lucy. She just doesn’t give up, does she?

“Where’s your lunch?” she asks. I shrug.

“I guess I forgot it today.” Lucy frowns.

“Well the line’s pretty short, so you could get school lunch,” she says. I shrug again.

“I’m kind of a picky eater.” That’s always Petunia’s excuse, whenever the neighbors get suspicious and ask why I’m so thin. Lucy digs in her lunch box and pulls out a sandwich, which she breaks in half.

“Here. At least have some of this. You’ve got to be starving.” I take the sandwich reluctantly, after glancing around the cafeteria to make sure Dudley isn’t watching. He’s focused on the Big Mac and fries Petunia packed for him this morning.

“Thanks,” I mutter. I don’t understand why Lucy is being so nice to me. Freaks don’t deserve kindness. They need to be locked up and controlled, so they don’t infect others with their freakishness. I bite into the sandwich. I’ve never had a ham and cheese sandwich, and it might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I practically inhale the sandwich. Lucy stares at me.

“Wow. The way you gobbled that down, you’d think you’ve never had a sandwich before!” I shrug. My shoulders are gonna be sore from this constant shrugging. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and Lucy packs up her food. She follows me out to the playground for recess. I head to my usual corner of the yard, by the trees. About 80% of my life is finding a new corner to hide in. Lucy sits next to me.

“So what’s your deal? Are you, like, secretly a vampire or something?” she asks. I look at her curiously.

“What do you mean?” Lucy shrugs.

“I don’t know, I mean, you’re just always so quiet, and you don’t really seem to hang out with anyone.” I frown and shrug my shoulders.

“I kinda just prefer to be alone. And I’ve always been quiet.” I don’t add that, at home, if I was too loud, or asked too many questions, Vernon would take a belt to me. Lucy frowns, but after a second she seems to accept my answer.

“Okay. But now I’m your friend. So you don’t have to be alone anymore.” I open my mouth to respond, but then I spot Dudley and his gang, making a beeline towards me and Lucy. I consider running, but from past experience, that just makes everything worse. I stand up and back into the fence. Lucy looks at me, a question in her eyes, but she spots Dudley soon enough.

“It’s okay, Aimee. He’s just some stupid bully.” I shake my head furiously. He’s not just some bully. What happens at school, what Dudley tells Vernon and Petunia, it determines what happens to me at home. Dudley is not just a bully. He holds my life in his hands. Dudley reaches us, and if possible, I shrink back even more against the fence. 

“Hey, you little freak!” my cousin shouts. “Whatcha doing all the way back there? What are you, scared, you ugly bitch?” I open my mouth before logic can tell me to shut up.

“You know, Dudley, sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut, and just _give_ the impression you’re a moron, rather than choosing to open it and removing all doubt.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. It doesn’t matter if Dudley can’t wrap his thick head around my insult. He’ll still throw some punches and tell on me to Vernon. 

“She’s insulting, you, Dudley.” Piers Polkiss says. He’s easily the smartest of Dudley’s gang, but that’s really not saying a lot. 

“I _got_ that, Piers!” Dudley growls. “I’m not stupid!” 

“You sure about that, Duddykins?” I ask, once again regretting my words as soon as they leave my mouth.

“You stupid, idiotic bitch!” Dudley screams, and he runs towards me, fist raised. I raise my arms to cover my face, preparing for a punch. But it doesn’t come, and I slowly open my eyes. Lucy stands in front of me, her fist extended. Dudley lies on the ground in front of her, holding his nose, which is gushing blood.

“You broke my bloody nose!” he exclaims, standing up. “You’ll pay for that, new girl. You’ll pay!” he screams. Lucy just stands there with her hands on her hips. 

“Oh no, what am I going to do? Punch you again?” Dudley looks like he wants to try to hit her again, but Piers grabs his arm and pulls him away, whispering “We can get her tomorrow.” Lucy turns around and holds out a hand to me. I grab it and she pulls me up. 

“Well that was an eventful start to my first day. Why does he hate you so much?” I shrug. Lucy grabs my shoulders.

“Aimee. I just punched him for you. The least you can do is tell me why.” I sit down and hug my knees to my chest.

“I don’t really like to talk about it.” I can’t talk about it. Lucy sits down next to me. 

“Okay. Um, did something bad happen?” I consider for a moment, then nod. I was born. My parents were killed, and I moved in with my closest living relatives. I’m a freak. Many bad things happened. Things I hope Lucy will never have to find out.

“You can talk to me, Aimee. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” I shrug, for the millionth time today.

“He’s my cousin.” I say finally, and Lucy frowns. 

“You guys are family and he still treats you like that?” she asks. Blood doesn’t necessarily equal family, but I nod anyway. “Well, have you told your parents?” I hug my knees tighter. 

“My parents are dead.” I whisper. Lucy hugs me, suddenly, and I flinch. She doesn’t let go, though, and doesn’t give any indication she felt me jerk.

“I’m so sorry, Aimee.” I feel myself leaning into her arms. It’s comfortable, and I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me. I feel a few tears sliding down my cheeks, but wipe them away quickly. I pull out of Lucy’s grasp and turn away, embarrassed. We sit there in silence for a few minutes, then Lucy speaks again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did they die?” I shrug.

“Car accident, I think. My aunt and uncle don’t talk about it much. I was young when it happened. All I remember is a lot of green light.” Which doesn’t really make sense with a car accident. Where would the light come from? And why would it be green? But I’ve never questioned it, because the last time I did, Petunia locked me in the garden shed for a week with no meals.

“So you live with your aunt and uncle, then?” Lucy asks. I nod. 

“That must be pretty nice. I mean, not that your parents died, but living with your aunt and uncle. My aunt is awesome, but she lives all the way back in Ireland, and I rarely see her.” I almost let out a hysterical laugh at the idea of Petunia and Vernon being “nice” under any circumstances. I shrug.

“It’s okay I guess.” The whistle blows before Lucy can ask any more questions, and we head back inside. The rest of the day passes fairly quickly, and before I know it, I’m on the bus heading back home. Lucy sits next to me again, but she gets off at the stop before mine. As the bus pulls to a stop I grab my beat up backpack and follow Dudley down the aisle. Once we step off the bus, my cousin runs home as fast as his pig-like legs can take him, to tell Petunia and Vernon what happened today at school, I’m sure. I walk at a reasonable enough pace that I won’t beat Dudley home, but I won’t be too far behind, either. 

Vernon doesn’t seem angry as I enter the house. In fact, quite the opposite. He hums along to himself as he watches his favorite evening programs. I fix dinner carefully and quietly, making myself the smallest possible portion. I always make sure to serve my relatives first. 

After dinner and dessert, I finally hear footsteps above my cupboard, going upstairs to bed. Finally letting my guard down, I slowly doze off to sleep. I’m awaken only an hour later, by the sound of my cupboard door opening. I open my eyes and scoot farther away from the opening.

“Aimee. Aimee, come here.” It’s Vernon. I think back to the times I’ve disobeyed him and regretted it instantly. I slowly creep into the hallway.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon, sir?” I ask quietly. He grabs my arm.

“I have a surprise for you. Come.” I follow him, not really having a choice with his vice-like grip on my wrist. He leads me to Dudley’s second bedroom. Everything is dark, so I am careful not to trip on any of the various toys scattered about the room. Vernon releases my arm, and I reach to rub the sore spot. But then he is on me. He’s on top of me and he’s pushing me onto the bed, and he’s pulling his pants off and reaching for mine. I try to scream, but a meaty hand covers my mouth. He spreads my legs apart harshly. I can’t breathe, and I don’t think it can get any worse, but then it does. He’s inside of me, and it hurts, it hurts so bad. I can’t move; he’s so heavy, and his weight is bearing down on me and he’s so, so heavy. Tears come to my eyes. The pain is unbearable. My vision starts to fade at the edges, and I see stars. Vernon is wearing this maniacal grin on his face, this terrible, awful smile, and that image burns into my mind as I fade into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter :)
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	2. Summer

The bus is late. We’ve been waiting here for almost 15 minutes, and our ride is still nowhere in sight. Dudley is keeping himself occupied on his new cell phone, but after enough time passes, I know he’ll start to use me for entertainment; his own personal punching bag. I can’t take that right now. Especially not after last night… I shudder. When I woke this morning, I had thought, I had _hoped_ that it had all been a dream, but I was sore in all the wrong places, and my back showed all the bruises of being slammed down. It wasn’t just a dream. It was my reality. It _is_ my reality.

Part of me knows I deserved it. I shouldn’t have become friends with Lucy, and I definitely shouldn’t have let her stand up for me. And, like always, I shouldn’t have talked back to Dudley. When will I ever learn to just shut my mouth and keep quiet? 

Freaks like me don’t deserve happiness. We are mistakes, never meant to be in this world. A tear slips from my eye onto the pavement. I quickly wipe my eyes and glance up to see if Dudley noticed. He didn’t, thank God. 

I hear rumbling, and see the bus whip around the corner and pull to a stop in front of our curb. Dudley rushes forward, and I hurry on after him. Lucy is already in the back seat, and she gestures for me to sit next to her. The driver must have gone to the stops out of order. I take a seat next to her reluctantly. 

“Hey, Aimee!” Lucy says brightly. I give her a small smile in greeting. “How was your night?” she asks. I shrug.

“It was good.” I lie. “What about you?” Lucy shrugs.

“It was alright. I had a bunch of work to catch up on, starting here so close to the end of the year and all, but I think I got a lot done.” she sighs. “Moving is hard.” I look down at my toes.

“Yeah I’m sure you miss your friends.” Lucy sighs again.

“Well, of course, but I have you now. I’ve lost friends, but I’ve made a new one.” I smile a little at that. No one has ever said anything that nice to me before.

“Th-thanks,” I stutter, blushing. 

The bus pulls up to the school, ending our awkward conversation. Lucy and I head to class, taking our seats in the back. The school day is hard. I can’t stop thinking about last night. When lunch comes around, I hurry to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich from the Sharing Table before Lucy sees me. When we sit down together, I tell her I got school lunch today. She nods, but doesn’t seem to quite believe me. 

At recess, Dudley gives us no trouble, but instead glares at us from across the playground. I don’t think he knows what happened last night. _I_ don’t even know what happened. I shudder, and Lucy glances at me questioningly. I shrug her off and wrap my arms around myself, under the guise of being cold. Finally, the end of the day arrives. I hop on the bus, following Dudley off when it’s our stop. 

I don’t know when the shaking starts, sometime from the bus stop to the house, but by the time I get to the Dursleys, I’m trembling like a maniac, and my vision is going in and out. Even though I know I’m gonna pay for it later, I sit down on the curb to catch my breath. But I can’t. My heart is beating so hard it feels as though it’s going to burst out of my chest. My breathing keeps getting heavier and heavier, until my vision goes almost completely black. The last thing I remember thinking is that Vernon is going to kill me.

“Aimee. Aimee, dear, wake up.” I slowly open my eyes to a familiar living room. Mrs. Figg, my neighbor, stands above me. “Oh good,” she says. “I was starting to get concerned.” I slowly sit up. I feel exhausted.

“What happened?” I ask. Mrs. Figg hands me a glass of water.

“Drink up, dear.” I take a long sip.

“What happened?” I ask again.

“You fainted. I found you collapsed on the curb. I think it was probably due to dehydration.” I stiffen. Petunia and Vernon are no doubt wondering where I am. I stand up.

“I should really be getting home. Thank you, Mrs. Figg.” Mrs. Figg nods, even if she looks a little confused by my sudden exit.

“Feel free to stop by anytime, dear.” I give her a small smile in response, then hurry out the door. Petunia and Vernon will be so mad.

“Hey Aimee!” Lucy greets brightly as she takes a seat on the bus. “Where were you yesterday?” 

When I came home from Mrs. Figg’s, Vernon had had a fit. It was bad enough I had to miss school yesterday. I look away from Lucy’s eyes.

“I didn’t feel well.” I say. It’s not a lie.

“Oh no, were you sick?” Lucy asks. I shrug.

“Yeah, I think I had a fever, or something. I feel better now, though.” Lucy leans back against the seat.

“That’s good. You didn’t miss much, anyway. We didn’t get homework in a single subject. Thank God, because I’m still behind on so many things. Seriously, hope your aunt and uncle never move. We’re still not completely settled in, and we’ve been unpacking boxes day and night.” I nod. I don’t mention that if Vernon and Petunia moved, they’d probably just leave me behind without a second thought.

The last few weeks of school pass quickly, as I am able to avoid angering Vernon severely. All too soon, summer arrives. Summer means spending endless hours weeding the garden, doing laundry, and cooking meals. 

It also means I won’t see Lucy. She’ll probably have forgotten about me by next year, anyway. I sigh and turn back to the garden. It was good while it lasted. My back is cramping from crouching so long. After another hour, when Petunia deems the yard weed-free, I hurry back inside to make lunch. That’s another thing I miss from the school year. I would never have to make lunch, and I could almost always find something to eat at school.

A month passes in the same manner, with a few punishments from Vernon. My birthday is coming up, but I know better than to expect anything from the Dursleys. 

I’m serving Dudley and Vernon breakfast when the mail slides through the door.

“Get the mail, Dudley.” Vernon says. Dudley pouts and points at me.

“Make Aimee get it.” Vernon doesn’t look up from his paper.

“Get the mail, freak.” I bite back a retort and obediently shuffle to the door. I sort through the mail, removing the junk mail from the pile, when a letter catches my eye. It has my name on it! 

Miss A. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

I quickly set the letter in my cupboard to read later, as Vernon would surely confiscate it, and then I would never get to read it.

“Here you are, Uncle Vernon, sir.” Vernon snatches the envelopes from me, and waves his hand in dismissal. I clean up the kitchen silently, then hurry back to my cupboard. I leave it open a crack, to let a sliver of light in. I slip open the envelope as quietly and carefully as I can. A couple sheets of paper fall out. It takes a while to read them, with the small amount of light to see by, but eventually I manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, remember feedback is always welcome! I hope y'all are enjoying your break, and I hope I can update soon!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	3. I'm a wizard?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes are in bold. :) I hope you enjoy, and remember feedback is always welcome, just please be polite :)

“Why didn’t you tell me I’m a wizard?” I demand of Petunia and Vernon that evening. I don’t care if I’m punished, I just need to know if it’s real, or just some elaborate prank set up by kids at school. But it has my cupboard on it! Who else would know about my cupboard? Vernon visibly pales, then experiences multiple shades of red before his face settles on a deep purple. I take a slight step backwards.

“How did you find out about this?” he demands. Petunia has a look of disgust on her face. I hold up the envelope, with the Hogwarts seal facing them. Petunia gives out a little shriek, and Vernon turns an even darker shade, if possible. 

“Is it true?” I demand. Petunia steps forward.

“ **True? Of course it’s true! How could it not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, yes, when she was your age, she disappeared off to that blasted school, and every year she would come home with her pockets full of frog spawn and turning teacups into rats. Mother and Father were oh so proud, a witch, in the family! I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak!** ” 

Petunia stops for a minute to draw breath, then she continues. 

“ **She met that Potter boy at school, and they left and got married, and had you, and I knew you would be the same, just as freaky, just as abnormal, and then-”** Petunia laughs hysterically. “ **And then, she went and got herself blown up, and we got landed with your ungrateful ass!** ” It seems like Petunia had been waiting a very long time to say all that. 

**“Blown up? What do you mean, blown up? You told me my parents died in a car crash!”** Vernon ignores my question and grabs my shirt.

“You ungrateful whelp! **We promised, when we took you in, that we would stamp all this nonsense out of you!** You’re a freak, and even in all our generosity, we feed you, we clothe you, we welcome you into our home, but you insist on staying an ungrateful whelp!” Vernon grabs the nearest object he can use as a weapon, which turns out to be a frying pan. His first swing is a direct hit to my face, and I feel my nose break, pain shooting through my head. He doesn’t stop there. 

I lay in my cupboard later that night, holding an old shirt to my face, trying to stop the blood. When I reach up, I can feel the now crooked structure of my nose. I wish I could just clap my hands and fix it. 

Suddenly, my face starts to tingle, almost as if it’s asleep. My nose feels on fire for a few seconds, before the pain fades away, leaving it feeling even better than before. I reach up and touch my nose again. It feels normal. Not crooked at all.

I think back to the letter, and Aunt Petunia’s reaction. Did I just heal my nose with… _magic_? Questions race through my head. Don’t I need a wand to perform magic? The letter definitely said to buy a wand. I touch my nose again. If I fixed that, could I heal other parts of my body, too?

I pull up my shirt, revealing my bruised and battered stomach, and place my hands on my ribs. Vernon definitely broke at least one. Like I did with my nose, I just sit there and silently wish for my ribs to heal. The same tingly feeling overtakes me again, and I feel my ribs. No pain. I almost laugh. I’ve had the ability to heal myself for _years_ , and I’m only now discovering it?

I take a deep breath. One more try, to make sure I’m not just imagining this whole thing.

I reach down and place my hand on my ankle. Dudley caught it in the front door a few years back, and it never really healed properly. For the third time, a tingling sensation fills my limbs. I smile. It’s going to be okay. _I’m_ going to be okay.

Summer has become the hardest time of my life. Vernon is almost always angry, and it’s almost always my fault. I’ve taken to healing myself, at least the big injuries, every night. I’m not sure I would still be alive, otherwise.

The days pass in a haze. I try my best to block out those nights when Vernon is the angriest, the nights when he takes me up to Dudley’s second bedroom. But no matter how hard I try, those are the nights that haunt my dreams.

A week or so after receiving my letter, I wake to a loud knocking on the front door. BANG. BANG. Then I hear an even louder crash. The door has fallen off its hinges. A gruff voice speaks.

“Sorry about tha’.” it says, rather kindly. I slowly push my cupboard door open to the largest man I have even seen. He spots me after a few moments of confused silence.

“Aimee! Why, I ‘aven’t seen yeh since you was a babe! A little short, I see, bu’ I’m sure yeh’ll grow into yer height.” I creep out of my cupboard fully.

“Who are you?” I ask, as politely as I can. Vernon and Petunia appear at the top of the stairs, Dudley showing up moments later. The man holds out a large palm.

“ **Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds a’ Hogwarts. Yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.** ” I shake my head.

“Just a little,” I say. “from what I read in the letter.” Hagrid’s face turns a deep red, and I take a step backwards toward my cupboard.

 **“Do you mean to tell me,** ” he growls at the Dursleys, “ **tha’ this** girl **-** Aimee Potter! **\- knows nothin’ abou’ - about ANYTHING?”**

“Well, I know some things,” I insist. “Like how I’m a witch and can do magic and stuff.” Hagrid glares at the Dursleys.

 **“DURSLEY!”** he booms. Vernon is very pale, and whispers something that sounds like “ **Mimblewimble** ”. Hagrid stares wildly at me.

 **“But yeh must know about yer mum and dad,”** he says. **“I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous.”** This is news to me. I shake my head, feeling more confused by the minute.

 **“What? My - my mum and dad were famous?** I - I’m famous? **”** Hagrid shakes his head in disbelief, his face still dark red with anger. I take another step back toward my cupboard.

 **“Yeh don’ know... yeh don’ know…”** Hagrid runs his fingers through his scruffy beard, giving me a bewildered stare. 

**“They really told you nothing?”** he says finally **.** I shake my head. 

“All I know I found out a couple weeks ago, when my Hogwarts letter arrived.” Uncle Vernon seems to suddenly find his voice.

 **“Stop!”** he commands, **“stop right there! I forbid you to tell her any more** ! **”** A braver man than Vernon would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid gives him; when Hagrid speaks next, his every syllable trembles with rage. I take another step back to my cupboard, now equally confused and scared.

 **“Yeh never told her** **? Never told her** **what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her**? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An’ you kept it from her all these years?"

 **“STOP! I FORBID YOU!”** yells Vernon in panic. Petunia gives a gasp of horror.

 **“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,”** says Hagrid. “Aimee, come wi’ me. There’s so much yeh have teh learn, and it’ll start when yeh get away from these twats. Come along, now.” I slowly creep out of my cupboard and follow Hagrid as he steps over the fallen door and exits the house. Just before we get to the end of the yard, Hagrid takes out a bright pink umbrella and waves it at the Dursleys’ front door. It flies back into place, and reattaches itself to the hinges. I stare at Hagrid in awe. He winks at me.

 **“I’d, er, appreciate it, if yeh didn’t tell anyone abou’ tha’. Not s’posed to use magic outside o’ Hogwarts, strictly speaking.”** I nod, still in shock from seeing magic in real life.

We take the Underground to London. It’s quite a funny sight, a man as large as Hagrid in such a small space. We keep getting curious looks, but Hagrid doesn’t seem to notice, in fact, he is rather fascinated with how the train works. It’s as if he’s never been on one before. He notices me watching him, and I look away, embarrassed. But he just grins like a maniac and reaches into one of his many coat pockets. He hands me a cardboard box, and nods at me to open it. Inside is a small cake, with the words “Happy Birthday Aimee” written in green frosting.

‘Happy Birthday, Aimee! I might 'ave sat on it on my way teh yer house, bu' I reckon it'll still taste all righ'.” Hagrid’s grin widens. I thank him and close the box smoothly, careful to not squish the already rather flattened cake. Soon enough, we arrive in London, and Hagrid leads me down the streets. I glance at the list of school supplies for Hogwarts.

 **“Hagrid,”** I say, **“can we find all this in London?”** Hagrid gives me another one of those grins, and winks.

"O' course we can, Aimee! Yeh jus' 'ave teh know where teh go!” he says rather mischievously as he leads me into a grimy looking pub I would never have noticed if I hadn’t been with Hagrid. No one else seems to notice the pub, though, and I start to wonder if they even can see it. Maybe it is strictly magical? A bartender looks up as we walk in.

 **“Ah, Hagrid. The usual, I presume?”** Hagrid waves his hand in dismissal.

 **“Not today Tom. I’m on official Hogwarts business.”** he says importantly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I barely contain a flinch, reminding myself that this is just Hagrid, from what I’ve seen, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Although he had flown into a rage pretty quick at the Dursleys…

“Merlin’s beard, that isn’t… Aimee Potter?” Tom almost drops the glass he’s holding. Several people glance up at the mention of my name, and I step back self consciously.

“Hagrid,” I whisper. “Why are they all staring at me?” He glances at me in surprise, then seems to remember I just recently learned I’m a witch. Before he can answer, people are crowding me, asking to shake my hand, saying just how pleased they are to meet me. Many eyes dart up to my forehead, and my fingers drift self consciously to my scar. I’m on the verge of panicking when the crowd finally clears, and Hagrid leads me out the back entrance. He taps the brick wall in a rather peculiar pattern, then the bricks part to form an archway. I gape as we walk through it.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley.” Hagrid says. Then he glances down at me. “Sorry abou’ tha’, back there, Aimee,” he says. “I forgot yeh didn’t know how yer parents died.” I look up at him eagerly.

“Will you tell me? And why I’m famous?” Hagrid nods. 

“No’ all wizards are good, Aimee. An’ a while ago, back aroun’ the same time I wa’ in school, there wa’ one tha’ went bad, as bad as yeh can go. His name was…” Hagrid pauses. “I, er, don’ really like teh say his name, see, tha’s ‘ow bad he was.” I nod.

“Well could you maybe, like, spell it out?” I ask. Hagrid shakes his head.

“Can’ spell it. Oh, alrigh’. His name wa’...” Hagrid lowers his voice to a gruff whisper. “Voldemort.”

“Voldemort?” I repeat, wanting to make sure I got the name right. 

“Shh!” Hagrid shushes me, glancing around to make sure no one heard me. It seems no one did, despite the crowds in Diagon Alley. 

“Anyway, You-Know-Who went after yer parents, and you, Aimee. He killed yer parents, he did, but when he turned his wand on you, it didn’ work. Yer the only person known to have survived the Killin’ Curse, Aimee, tha’s wha’ makes yeh so special. When the curse didn’ work on yeh, it backfired on You-Know-Who, and he hasn’t been seen since. Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe it." I nod, but don’t say anything. It’s all a lot to take in. A thought occurs to me.

“Hagrid,” I say, “Did all the other kids at school, did they grow up in wizard families? Am I gonna be behind in my studies?” It’ll be bad enough going to Hogwarts singled out for “defeating” a massive dark wizard, I can’t imagine being the dumb one on top of it all.

“Don’ you worry, Aimee. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact.” I nod, not completely reassured, but enough so for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so quote heavy, I couldn't think of another way to do it :)
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	4. The Hogwarts Express

The last month at the Dursleys goes by way too slowly. Vernon was mad, just furious about the whole situation, and, really, he couldn’t have taken it worse. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure I would make it to Hogwarts alive. But finally the day arrives when I leave for school. I’m surprised when Vernon offers to drive me to the station after I show him my ticket. I was thinking I might have to walk to King’s Cross. Vernon drops me off between platforms 9 and 10 with a maniacal smirk.

“Here you go, freak. Platform 9 and platform 10. It doesn’t really seem like your platform exists, does it? I don’t see a 9 ¾ sign anywhere.” And with that Vernon drives away, laughing like a maniac. I try not to panic, but the letter _did_ say the train leaves at exactly 11, and it’s 10:50 right now. A gaggle of redheads passes by, and I catch a snippet of their conversation.

“ **...packed with Muggles of course…** ” Muggles! Hagrid told me that Muggle was the wizarding term for “non-magic folk.” I hurry towards them.

“Excuse me, miss,” I say to who seems to be the mother of the redheaded clan. She looks at me with a smile.

“Yes, dear?” she asks. I gesture around vaguely.

“I was wondering, er, how do you get onto the platform?” The woman’s smile widens. 

“Oh, yes, of course, dear. You just walk straight at that wall, right there, the one between platforms nine and ten.” I nod, but the idea of walking right into a brick wall isn’t all that appealing. 

“That will take you onto the platform. If you’re a little nervous, try doing it at a bit of a run. It’s Ron’s first year at Hogwarts, too. You guys can go together.” She gestures to the boy who looks to be around my age. I smile at him, and he nods in response. 

The other boys are already on the platform, and the woman gives us a bit of a push towards the wall. I flinch and we take off at a run, straight at the wall. Next thing I know, we’re on a completely different platform. Ron and I stick together as we head off to find somewhere to sit, staying together under the silent agreement that we have no one else to sit with. We sit down in the first empty compartment, and it’s an awkward silence for the first few minutes. Then the boy holds out his hand.

“I’m Ron. Ron Weasley.” I shake and respond with my own name. Ron’s eyes widen. “Are you really? Do you have the-” he gestures to his forehead, and I nod. I push back my hair to show him the lightning scar. 

“Wicked.” he says softly. “If I wasn’t one myself, I would have pegged you for a Weasley. Your hair’s almost the same shade as mine!” I smile a little. He’s right, we do look rather similar. There’s a knock on our compartment door and I slide it open. A small, plump witch is waiting outside.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” she asks in a high pitched voice. Ron shakes his head and holds up a bag of sandwiches.

“I’m all good.” he says, rather downheartedly. I glance back at the trolley.

“I’ll take one of everything,” I say, passing the witch a handful of Galleons. Apparently my mum and dad were rather well off, and they left me a small fortune before they died. I certainly hope the Dursleys never get their hands on it, or there’ll be hell for me to pay. 

Apparently, Ron has got a pet rat. It’s a little odd how wizards have pets like owls and rats, but I think I can get used to it.

“My brother, Fred, gave me a spell to turn him yellow. I don’t think it works though.” says Ron, gesturing to the rat in his lap.

“Well, you might as well try it, see what happens.” I say. Ron takes out his wand right as the compartment door slides open, revealing a brown-skinned, bushy haired girl, already in her Hogwarts robes. She glances around the compartment before addressing Ron and me.

“ **Have you seen a toad anywhere? A boy named Neville’s lost his.** ” Ron and I shake our heads in sync. The girl frowns, then sees Ron holding his wand, and brightens a bit.

“ **Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.** ” Ron clears his throat and says something about butter and yellow and fat rats, but nothing happens. The girl crosses her arms and puts her nose in the air.

“ **Are you sure that’s a real spell? Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard - I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.** ” Ron raises his eyebrows at me and shakes his head in a “can you believe her?” sort of way. I just hope not everyone has memorized the course books by heart. The girl sits down next to Ron and points her wand at me. I flinch, and move to cover my face.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to fix your glasses. Now hold still a moment.” I hesitantly place my hands in my lap as the girl utters a spell.

“ _Oculus Reparo._ ” the girl says calmly, her wand still pointed at my circular frames. I hear a small whoosh noise, and I pull my glasses off my face to look at them. The tape on the nose piece is replaced with a shining piece of metal.

“Wow.” I say, awestruck. “Thanks…” I trail off, realizing the girl never told us her name.

“Hermione Granger.” she says, rather pompously. I smile.

“Nice to meet you, Hermione. I’m Aimee, and that’s Ron.” I reply, pointing to Ron. Hermione ignores the latter name as her eyes widen and dart up to my forehead.

“Holy cricket! Aimee Potter?” she exclaims. I nod carefully. I’m still getting used to the stares and shocked expressions when I tell people who I am. “ **I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and** **Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.** ” That’s news to me. I didn’t know I was famous enough to be in one book, let alone three! Although, Hagrid had told me that “there’s no’ a wizard or witch alive who don’ know yer name.” As I tune back into the conversation, Hermione has already moved on to a new topic. I can’t keep up with this girl.

“ **Do either of you know which house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad… Anyway, I’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.** ” With that, Hermione left, leaving me wondering what the hell “houses” were, and Ron gaping in her wake.

“ **Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it.** ” I nod absentmindedly. Ron won’t get angry if I ask questions, right? He’s not like Vernon and Petunia.

“Ron?” I start. He looks up at me expectantly. 

“Yeah?” I twist the sleeve of my shirt around my fingers.

“What exactly are… houses?” Ron hurriedly swallows a piece of Licorice Wand.

“Well, you see, at Hogwarts, there are four houses,” he begins. “Sort of like teams, I guess. There’s Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. All my family’s been in Gryffindor, I don’t know what Mum and Dad will say if I’m not. You-Know-Who was in Slytherin, which has a reputation for producing the most dark witches and wizards of all the houses. Ravenclaw is the “smart house”, and Hufflepuff just takes the rest.” I frown.

“That doesn’t seem completely fair.” Ron shrugs.

“It’s just the way it’s always been, I guess. What’s your Quidditch team?” My frown deepens at the way Ron breezes over the previous subject.

“Er, I don’t know any.” I say. Ron looks dumbfounded.

“Oh, just you wait, it’s the best sport there is, the whole of the Wizarding world goes crazy over it.” And then he’s off, explaining just how the game of Quidditch is played. I’m astounded to find out that the players are on flying brooms! I’m just about to ask more about that when our compartment door slides open again, only this time it isn’t Hermione. The pale, blonde haired boy from Madam Malkin’s steps in, followed by two large, rather scary looking boys.

“Is it true?” the pale boy asks. “They’re saying down the train that Aimee Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?” he gestures at me.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s me.” I glance once again at the pale boy’s cronies, who seem to act as his bodyguards, judging from the way they stand on either side of him. They remind me of Dudley, with the way they’re standing. It’s clear all three boys think rather highly of themselves. 

“This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” the pale boy says carelessly, gesturing to the boys I had just been watching. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” Ron gives a snort at Draco Malfoy’s name. The boy glares at him.

“ **Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.** ” Ron’s face turns a shade to match his hair. I cross my arms. 

“I have red hair and freckles, and I’m not a Weasley.” I say. “In fact, you seemed to know pretty well that I’m Aimee Potter.” Malfoy ignores my comment.

“ **Soon you’ll find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.** ” He holds out his hand to shake, but I don’t take it. He reminds me far too much of Dudley.

“ **I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.** ” I say coolly. Malfoy doesn't quite blush, but his unnaturally pale cheeks do darken.

“ **I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit more polite you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that great oaf Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.** ” Ron stands up, his face beet red, and his fists raised. I grab his wrist and pull him back down.

“He’s not worth it, Ron.” I say quietly. I don’t want to see him get beat up by Crabbe and Goyle, who are about twice our size. “Leave, Malfoy.” I say, louder. Malfoy glances at Crabbe and Goyle.

“No, I don’t think so. You see, we’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.” Goyle reaches for a Chocolate Frog, and Ron leaps toward him, but before he can even touch the boy, Goyle lets out a yell. Scabbers is hanging off his finger, his teeth sunk deep into Goyle’s skin. Goyle waves his finger about, letting out a string of curse words, when Scabbers finally flies off and hits the window. The three boys disappeared at once, perhaps thinking Ron and I are keeping more vicious rats in hiding, but a second later, Hermione enters the compartment for the second time.

“What in Merlin’s name has been going on in here?” she demands, glancing at the sweets covering the floor. Ron picks Scabbers up by the tail.

“I don’t believe it! He’s gone back to sleep! The bloody rat is worthless!” he exclaims. Hermione frowns.

“You two better not have been fighting! You’ll not even make it to school without getting in trouble. Speaking of which, you really need to get changed, I’ve just been up to speak with the conductor, he says we’re nearly there.” she glances at Ron. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, did you know?” With that she retreats from our compartment and heads back towards her own. Ron glares at her, and angrily rubs his nose.

“You can change first,” I say. “I’ll wait out in the hallway.” Ron nods and reaches for his robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this chapter, and, as always, feedback is welcome in the comments! I hope y'all are enjoying your break!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	5. The Sorting

“Firs' years! Firs’ years over here!” Hagrid’s friendly voice carries over all the chatter from the students exiting the train. Ron and I make our way over to him, pushing through crowds of older kids walking the other way. “All right there, Aimee?” Hagrid asks. I give him a grin, and he returns it with a beaming smile of his own. After a couple minutes, once the entirety of the first year has assembled themselves by Hagrid, we head toward the dark lake. The path is steep and very slippery, and I trip multiple times. A few bruises are added to my collection from last night, the ones from Vernon.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in jus’ a sec!” Hagrid calls. As we round a corner, a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” fill the air. Hogwarts is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. A vast castle sits on a tall cliff, its windows glowing from the light inside. Hagrid leads us a little farther, to the docks. Ron and I step into one of the many boats, joined by Neville and Hermione. Once every student is safely inside a boat, Hagrid gives a shout of “FORWARD!” and the boats lurch ahead.

Once we get inside the castle - which is considerably warmer than the trip across the lake, mind you - Hagrid guides us to a hallway right off the entrance. A stern looking woman is waiting there for us.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Professor McGonagall, and I teach Transfiguration here. The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly,” she says. “Wait here.” With no further explanation, she turns around and exits through a pair of big, ornate doors. Hagrid follows her, and we are left alone. Whispers break out amongst the group.

“How exactly are we sorted?” I ask Ron nervously. He shrugs.

“I’m not really sure. Some sort of test, from what I’ve heard. Fred says it really hurts, but I think he was just joking.” My heart speeds up. A test? In front of the whole school? There is no way I’m going to pass! I’m just gonna make a fool of myself in front of the whole school and be sent home! I’m gonna have to go back to the Dursleys, and Vernon’s gonna kill me, and… My breathing quickens, and I think back to when I fainted on the way home from school. A girl with long brown hair puts a hand on my shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “My brother told me all about the test. You don’t have to do anything, not really. Apparently some rusty old hat decides where you belong.” I breathe a sigh of relief, and nod, despite how odd that sounds. How is a hat going to sort us?

“Thanks,” I say anyway. The girl smiles softly and holds out her hand. 

“I’m Fay,” she says. I shake her hand.

“Aimee,” I reply, waiting for the usual gasp of surprise that comes from introducing myself. But Fay doesn’t make a sound. I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe there are some normal people here, too.

“Nice to meet you, Aimee,” Fay says. She seems genuine, and I smile back at her. 

Glancing around at the other students, most of them look scared out of their wits. Hermione is even muttering about all the spells she learned, and which ones she’ll need for our upcoming test. I close my eyes and take a calming breath. If Fay was telling the truth, I have nothing to worry about. When I reopen my eyes, there are at least twenty pearly white figures floating by us. Ghosts, I think, caught up in their own conversations, barely giving us first years a second glance.

“Move along, now.” a sharp voice sounds at the front of the group. Professor McGonagall has returned. “The Sorting will begin in just a few minutes. Now, students, if you will follow me.” The group of eleven year olds hurriedly shuffles behind McGonagall as she leads the way through the large double doors. Gasps fill the air as the Great Hall comes into view for the first time. It’s the most splendid thing I’ve ever seen! Candles are floating all through the air, and the four long tables are filled with shining golden plates and goblets. I take a glance up at the ceiling, then do a double take. At first it seemed like there was no ceiling, just a beautiful starry sky, but now I realize there is a ceiling behind the stars. Behind me, Hermione whispers something about it being enchanted to always look like the sky.

“Form a line, please.” Professor McGonagall orders. I step behind Ron, with Neville behind me, and Hermione at the front, eager as always. I follow her gaze to the front of the Hall, where a battered old hat sits on a rickety wooden stool. So Fay was right! There  _ is _ a hat. I still don’t understand how it will sort us, though. Maybe we’ll pick a piece of paper from within it, and that will be our house? That doesn’t seem like a very smart way to go about this. For a few moments, the whole hall is silent. Then the brim of the hat rips open and it starts to sing.

**_Oh you may not think I’m pretty,_ **

**_But don’t judge on what you see,_ **

**_I’ll eat myself if you can find_ **

**_A smarter hat than me_ **

**_You can keep your_ ** **_bowlers_ ** **_black,_ **

**_Your_ ** **_top hats_ ** **_sleek and tall,_ **

**_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_ **

**_And I can cap them all._ **

**_There's nothing hidden in your head_ **

**_The Sorting Hat can't see,_ **

**_So try me on and I will tell you_ **

**_Where you ought to be._ **

**_You might belong in_ ** **_Gryffindor_ ** **_,_ **

**_Where dwell the brave at heart,_ **

**_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_ **

**_Set Gryffindors apart;_ **

**_You might belong in_ ** **_Hufflepuff_ ** **_,_ **

**_Where they are just and loyal,_ **

**_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_ **

**_And unafraid of toil;_ **

**_Or yet in wise old_ ** **_Ravenclaw_ ** **_,_ **

**_if you've a ready mind,_ **

**_Where those of wit and learning,_ **

**_Will always find their kind;_ **

**_Or perhaps in_ ** **_Slytherin_ **

**_You'll make your real friends,_ **

**_Those cunning folks use any means_ **

**_To achieve their ends._ **

**_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_ **

**_And don't get in a flap!_ **

**_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_ **

**_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_ **

Everyone claps after the Hat’s song, and the first years line up as McGonagall calls out our names in alphabetical order. I cheer as Fay, Hermione, and Neville are all sorted into Gryffindor. Far too soon it’s my turn.

“Potter, Aimee.” I nervously approach the stool as the hall breaks out in whispers. 

“ _ The _ Aimee Potter?”

“Did she say Potter?”

“Aimee Potter? As in, the Girl-Who-Lived?” I try to ignore the students as Professor McGonagall places the hat on my head. A voice appears suddenly in my mind. It’s the most disconcerting thing I’ve ever experienced. The voice is actually  _ inside _ my thoughts.

“Aimee Potter. Difficult, very difficult. You’ve been through quite a lot, I see.” it says. I shut my eyes tightly.

_ Please don’t send me back to the Dursleys _ , I think. The hat ignores this thought and continues talking.

“You would certainly do well in Slytherin. You have great cunning and ambition, and I can tell you have anger inside you. Slytherin would help you on the path to revenge. But Gryffindor could do you well, too. You have plenty of courage, oh yes, and you are willing to defend your friends to the end.” I think of the students I’ve met so far, and of Lucy, back in Surrey. Even though I haven’t known any of them for long, I find myself willing to do anything to keep them safe. After all, they are the first people to have ever shown me kindness. 

“There’s quite a bit of talent, here, too, and a thirst to prove yourself.” My eyes are still closed, but I open them to glance over at the Slytherin table. They don’t all look like the nicest bunch of kids, but most of them seem okay enough. However, there is the downside of being in the same house as Draco. I glance over at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione, Fay, and hopefully Ron, too, sit. I close my eyes and think hard. I can feel the hat smile above me, and I cover my ears as it shouts a single word to the whole Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Really, it's your support that keeps me motivated to keep writing. I hope you all are having an amazing start to the school year!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	6. The Welcome Feast

I glance around in awe as the golden platters fill with food. There is all the food anyone could ever want; roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, peas, sausage, bacon, steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, gravy, and, for some strange reason, lemon drops. I grab a small spoonful of the potatoes, not sure how much my stomach can hold after eating only dry toast twice a day for the past 10 years of my life. I also scoop some of the peas onto my plate. I’ve never had peas in my entire life, so I’m not even sure if I’ll like them, but I try a couple anyway. They’re okay. Hermione is talking my ear off in the seat next to me.

“So what was the other house the Sorting Hat was considering?” I look at her, confused. She rolls her eyes. “You were a Hatstall, Aimee.” I must still look confused, because Hermione sighs and goes on to explain what a Hatstall is. 

“It’s when you could fit so well into two different Houses, that the Hat has trouble choosing. I read about it in  _ Hogwarts, A History _ .” I nod slowly. It did seem like an awful long time before the Hat shouted out its verdict, Malfoy had been a Slytherin before the hat even touched his head!

“So the Hat chose you for Gryffindor, but what was the other House? I was considered for Ravenclaw, but apparently I’m a better fit for Gryffindor. I’m not open-minded enough, or something.” Hermione pauses for a moment and shakes her head. “So was yours Hufflepuff? I wouldn’t be surprised, you’re certainly nice enough to be one, I mean, you’re sitting with me right now, and most people don’t even want to be near me.” I glance around. She’s right, a few of the students sitting nearby look annoyed or even disgusted by her know-it-all tendencies and long tangents. I shrug.

“I think you’re nice.” I say, ignoring the glare Ron gives me from across the table. Hermione beams, then looks at me expectantly, and I realize I still haven’t answered her question. “Oh, right, er, the Hat was also considering Slytherin, as, um, the other House.” Ron’s fork clatters to his plate.

“Slytherin?” he hisses. “But you-you’re the Girl-Who-Lived! You defeated You-Know-Who! You can’t be in Slytherin!” I look at Ron, half annoyed with him and half scared he’ll stop wanting to be my friend.

“Well, I’m not.” I say. “I’m in Gryffindor. What do you have against Slytherin, anyway?” Ron’s face turns slightly pink.

“It’s a bad house. Slytherin produces dark wizards, and that’s the way it’s always been.” He takes a bite of his chicken.

“Really?” I ask. “Every single wizard from Slytherin turned bad? I find that hard to believe.” I have no idea where all this confidence is coming from. I think I’m high off the thrill of magic. Hermione pipes up now, having been paying attention to our conversation, her eyes flicking between me and Ron.

“Actually, Merlin was from Slytherin, and he’s considered one of the greatest wizards of all time.” she squeaks, clearly wanting to speak her point, but not wanting to cause a fight. Ron’s face reddens.

“Oh.” he says, embarrassed. “I guess not all Slytherins are bad, then. But a lot of them are, you have to admit that.” Hermione and I nod in sync. I let out a relieved sigh, glad I didn’t lose Ron as a friend, and glad Hermione stood up for me. 

“Sorry,” I say. Hermione gives me a look.

“Whatever for?” she asks. I shrug.

“I started a fight. I’m sorry,” I say again. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I get in fights all the time with my brothers, and they’re about a thousand times worse than that was.” Ron says.

“Yeah, he can be a real prick,” Fred and George say in sync from down the table. Ron ignores them.

“Besides,” he says. “You were right. Not every Slytherin wizard is evil.” A ghost in old fashioned clothes floats over, interrupting our conversation. He stares at Ron’s plate longingly.

“That really does look good,” he says. I frown.

“Can you not-?”

“Oh, I haven’t eaten for nearly four hundred years. I mean, I don’t need to, of course, but I do often miss it. Have I introduced myself? I’m Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. I’m the ghost of Gryffindor Tower.” 

“I know who you are!” Ron says loudly. “You’re Nearly Headless Nick! My brothers told me about you.” 

“I would really prefer you call me Sir Nicholas de-” the ghost begins, looking quite miffed, but Seamus Finnigan interrupts him.

“How on  _ earth _ can you be nearly headless?” he asks rather rudely. If possible, Nearly Headless Nick looks even more put out. Clearly, this conversation was not turning out as he had hoped.

“Like so,” he says irritably. He pulls on his left ear, his head falling from his neck and onto his shoulder. It looks as if his head is on a hinge, but there isn’t one that I can see. Looking satisfied at the mix of horror and awe the new students give him, he swings his head back into place, and floats farther down the table. 

When everyone has had their fill of food, the food fades from the plates, replaced by dessert. Similar to dinner, I have never seen so many sweets in one place. I don’t even recognize half of them, ice cream in dozens of flavors, donuts and strawberries, and multiple types of pies. Ron helps himself to a bit of everything. I feel stuffed from dinner, but I take a few scoops of ice cream in chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. The conversation between the first years turns to our families as I take a bite of the strawberry scoop.

“ **I’m half and half. Me dad’s a Muggle. Mom didn’t tell him she was a witch ‘til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.** ” Seamus says in his Irish accent. The others laugh. Neville speaks up next.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch. But my family thought I was a Squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to force some magic out of me - he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, and I nearly drowned - but I didn’t show any signs of magic until I was eight when Uncle Algie accidentally dropped me out a window, but I bounced, all the way down to the road. Everyone was so pleased, Gran was crying and all, she was so happy. When I got my letter, Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad, Trevor.” I don’t like the sound of Neville’s uncle. He sounds a little too much like my own. 

“Wait, your uncle almost drowned you?” Fay asks. “That doesn’t seem right.” I nod in agreement, but Neville just shrugs.

“It’s not that bad. I survived, didn’t I?” Fay frowns, but returns to her conversation with the girl next to her. Beside me, Hermione and Percy are discussing classes. I roll my eyes when I hear Hermione say she wants the classes to start as soon as possible, and I can imagine her smile when Percy says we are given our schedules tonight in the common room, and classes start tomorrow.

Exhausted from holding conversation for so long, I look towards the High Table. Hagrid is drinking deeply from his goblet, while McGonagall and Dumbledore are enthralled in conversation. Professor Quirrell is talking to a man with greasy black hair down to his shoulders, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It is very sudden when the black-haired teacher looks past Quirrell, and we make eye contact. The teacher’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and he whips his gaze away. My scar burns sharply, a white hot pain flashing across my forehead. 

“Ouch!” I say, putting a hand to my scar. Hermione looks over at me, a look of concern on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asks. I nod.

“Yeah, just, brain freeze,” I say, gesturing to my almost empty bowl of ice cream. Hermione nods sympathetically. I’m not quite sure what a brain freeze is, but Dudley always has one after eating something really cold.

“Hey, Percy?” Percy turns his attention to me. “Who’s that teacher over there, the one talking to Professor Quirrell?”

“Oh, that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but everyone knows he’s after the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape does.” I nod and thank Percy for the information, and he goes back to his conversation with Hermione. I watch Snape for a couple more minutes but he doesn’t look up again, and soon the desserts disappear, leaving the plates shining again. 

Dumbledore hops to his feet again, strangely nimble for such a seemingly old man. The Hall immediately quiets down.

“A few words before you head off to bed, if you please. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. A few of the older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore says, his eyes twinkling as the Weasley twins smirk at each other. The Headmaster recites a few more pieces of advice, including the fact that the third floor is forbidden to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. I can’t tell if he is serious or not, but the other students don’t look too shocked, so I let it go for now.

“And now, before I release you to the comfort of your dorms, let us sing the school song! Everyone pick your favorite tune, and off we go!” A golden ribbon shoots from the end of the Headmaster’s wand, and arranges itself into words above the tables. The students sing the song obediently, finishing at different times, and finally only Fred and George are left singing to a very slow funeral march. 

Dumbledore wipes fake tears away as he releases us to our dorms. I walk between Hermione and Ron as we follow Percy to our Houses. Percy stops walking suddenly, and I almost trip over Dean Thomas, who is walking in front of me. A bundle of walking sticks are floating in midair ahead of the group. Percy takes a step toward them, but has to quickly duck as the sticks start throwing themselves at us. 

“Peeves! Show yourself!” A little man with wicked, dark eyes, and wide lips appears in front of us. Percy sighs tiredly.

“Ahh, ickle firsties! What fun!” Peeves hollers.

“Go away Peeves, or I’ll get the Bloody Baron, I swear it!” Peeves crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue, but vanishes just as suddenly as he came. Percy turns to face us.

“Peeves is a poltergeist. The Bloody Baron is the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are.” We’ve arrived at a painting of a rather large woman wearing a pink silk dress. 

“Password?” she asks us in a sickly sweet voice. 

“Caput Draconis,” Percy says, and the Fat Lady swings open to reveal a hole in the wall. Percy leads the first years through it, and we find ourselves in a cozy room filled with squashy armchairs. Percy points toward the separate dormitories for boys and girls, and I follow Fay, Hermione, and one of the Patil twins up the spiral staircase. 

Our trunks are already at the base of our beds, and we quickly change into our pajamas. The other girls are asleep almost instantly, but I stay awake for a while longer, not wanting to wake up tomorrow and find out this was all a dream. Despite that atrocious thought, I’m exhausted, and it doesn’t take more than an hour for me to drift off as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This might be my last post for a little bit, as I start school again tomorrow, and I'm hella stressed. I will still try to update whenever I have time, and of course I'll keep writing! Thank you all so much for your support. I love y'all!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	7. Throwing up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm warning you in advance, this chapter is very short. I apologize, but I haven't had all that much time to write.

_ Slut. _

_ Whore. _

_ You know you want me, you dirty little bitch. _

_ Stop that foolish crying, you stupid skank. _

I awake sweating, my heart beating fast, and my breathing even faster.

_ A frying pan, flying towards my head. _

_ Freak! _

_ Ungrateful whelp!  _

_ Useless burden. _

Nausea rises up into my throat and I run to the bathroom, barely closing the door before my dinner comes back up. I retch into the toilet for a while, before I feel a hand on my shoulder. I flinch towards the toilet as another round of bile exits my stomach. Someone hands me a towel and I wipe my mouth. I turn around and lean back against the toilet, done upchucking my guts for the time being. Hermione is crouched down next to me. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. Hermione’s eyebrows pinch together.

“What for?” I shrug.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? You didn’t need to come in here and help me. I’m okay.” Hermione sits down and leans against the stall.

“I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep, I’m just too excited for classes tomorrow. But even if you did wake me up, that would be okay. Now, are you alright?” I shrug again.

“I think something from dinner didn’t sit well with me.” Hermione nods.

“I don’t feel too great myself. The food here is really rich, isn’t it? My mum’s an alright cook, but nothing like this. What about you? Do your guardians like to cook?” I glance down at my hands, twisting the towel anxiously.

“My aunt does. She’s not very good, though, so I often help.” I don’t mention that “helping” basically means cooking entire meals while Petunia sits around and hits me with the frying pan. Hermione nods silently. 

“Are you ready to go back to bed or do you want to stay here for a while longer? I can go get Madam Pomfrey if you need.” I shake my head, thinking about how the Dursleys always punish me for sicking up. I haven’t had anything more than a cold in ages.

“I don’t need Madam Pomfrey,” I think about the confines of the four poster bed curtains, like the walls of my cupboard closing in. “I think I’m just gonna stay here for a little longer. You can go back to bed if you want.” Hermione doesn’t answer, she just pulls me into her side and rubs my back soothingly. Despite not wanting to let my guard down, I find myself drifting off. 

The next time I open my eyes, sunlight is streaming in through the window. My head is in Hermione’s lap, and I quickly sit up, knowing it can't be normal for two girls to be touching like that.

A knock on the bathroom door breaks the silence, and Hermione slowly opens her eyes and glances over at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Hermione smiles groggily. 

“Don’t worry about it. We were both pretty tired.” The knock comes again, and Hermione stands up and stretches.

“Just a second!” she calls out to whomever is behind the door. Yawning, she glances at a Muggle watch strapped to her wrist.

“We still have a little while before breakfast. How are you feeling?” I shrug. 

“Better. I don’t really have much of an appetite though.” Hermione laughs.

“Yeah, I’d imagine so. Upchucking all night doesn’t serve for the best appetite stimulant.” I smile softly, just glad she’s not pissed at me for causing her so much trouble.

“Thanks, Hermione,” I say.

“For what?” she asks quizzically.

“Just for… staying up with me last night. You didn’t need to.”

“Well of course I didn’t need to. I wanted to, and besides, I'm sure anyone would have.” I shake my head a little.

“Not everyone.” I mutter softly. 

We exit the bathroom together. Lavender is waiting on the other side, her robes draped over her arm. 

“What were you two doing in there?” she asks. I look down at the ground, embarrassed. Hermione seems to have no such emotion.

“Aimee wasn’t feeling well.” she says by way of explanation. Lavender shrugs and enters the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

“Are you alright, Aimee?” Fay sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “You didn’t sound so good last night.” I nod.

“Just something I ate.” I say. “I’m okay, now.” Fay smiles and lays back down, her eyes closed before her head even touches the pillow. 

“That’s good,” she mumbles before promptly falling back asleep.

It might be a small thing, but I don’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

People  _ care _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm sorry it's been so long! I've been totally swamped with school and homework, I haven't had time to write all that much. Well, I hope you guys liked the chapter! Also, I'm sorry how short it is :( I know I should have written more, but at least this is better than nothing!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	8. Classes Begin

Hogwarts is the most exciting, chaotic, and stressful place I have ever been. There are moving staircases, walking suits of armor, people that can travel from one painting to another. There are even doors that don’t open unless you tickle them just right, or ask them nicely to open. Peeves causes chaos at every corner, throwing chalk at you, grabbing your nose and screaming “GOT YOUR CONK!” Even worse than Peeves, though, are the whispers that follow me everywhere.

“Did you see her?”

“Where?”

“Over there, by the tall kid with the red hair.”

“I can’t believe we go to school together. She’s a celebrity!”

“Did you see her scar?”

I do my best to ignore them, but some are harder than others, especially the ones about my scar. I’ve always been self-conscious about my body, and it got a lot worse when Vernon… Anyway, the constant comments about my scar, the eyes drawn to my forehead, and to  _ me _ in general, make me want to be back in my cupboard under the stairs. Dark and cramped, but safe. 

Most of the classes are interesting, but stressful as all heck. I don’t understand half the words the professors say, and it doesn’t help when I can’t read the board from all the way in the back. History of Magic is by far the most boring class, considering the professor is dead, but it’s also the easiest, as Professor Binns only reads from the book all class, and that’s where he gets all his exam questions, so if you can read, you can pass. It’s pretty easy to take notes when all you have to do is copy from the book. I’m relieved to notice that I’m not all that far behind everyone else, except Hermione, of course. Even those like Ron, from wizarding families, don’t have that much of a head start.

The week flies by in a blur, and before I know it, it’s Friday, and our first Potions class. I’m a little nervous, because of what happened that first night at Hogwarts, when Snape made my scar burn. It doesn’t help that Ron won’t shut up about how he supposedly favors Slytherins immensely. Finally, he quiets down as the mail arrives. Hedwig hasn’t brought me anything so far, but this time she swoops toward the table and drops a sloppily rolled up note. In a messy scrawl, it reads;

_ Dear Aimee, _

_ I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I wanna hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Hedwig. _

_ Hagrid _

I grab my quill and answer Hagrid’s note with a “that sounds great, see you this afternoon.” At least now I have something to look forward to.

Potions takes place in the dungeons, which are cold, dark, and just not very appealing overall. Snape starts the class the same as all the others; roll call. When he gets to my name, his eyes dart towards me and away just as quickly as he moves down the list. When the last person on the list announces their presence, Snape sets his clipboard down on his desk, and folds his arms in front of him. He begins a speech summarizing the first year of Potions, when suddenly, he turns to me.

“ **Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?** ” I freeze. Powdered root to an infusion of wormwood? Hermione’s hand shoots up in the chair next to me. What answer did Snape want? Would he get mad if I answered incorrectly? If I answered correctly? I glance around the room before looking back at Snape.

“I-I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we would be tested on the first day. I would have read through the book more carefully.” Snape looks slightly taken aback at my answer, but then the malice returns to his eyes.

“Well, Ms. Potter, you should always come prepared. I will not go easy on those in my class. Five points from Gryffindor.” My face reddens and I shrink back in my seat. “Now, let’s try again. Tell me, where would you look if I told you to fetch me a bezoar?” Once again, Hermione’s hand shoots into the air. Once again, I don’t know how to answer. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know that either.” Over by the Slytherins, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are shaking with laughter. My blush deepens.

“Did you even think to open a book before coming to class today, Ms. Potter?” I turn my gaze to my feet. Of course I tried! The Dursleys locked all my school stuff in the upstairs bedroom the day Hagrid and I returned, and only unlocked it because they were worried all my supplies would blow up the house in my absence.

“One more try, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Hermione shoots out of her chair, hand stretching toward the ceiling. This one I think I know. I remember reading it at the beginning of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. I just hope the Professor doesn’t get mad at me for answering correctly.

“Is there a difference, sir?” Snape’s scowl lessens slightly.

“No there is not. It seems there might be hope for you after all, Ms. Potter. Now,” he speaks in a louder tone, to the whole class. “Asphodel and wormwood create a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat, and it is known to save you from most poisons. Well? Why do I not see you writing this down?” I scramble in my bag for a quill and parchment, and copy down what Snape just said.

The rest of class goes only slightly better than the first half. Snape picks on Neville when his potion melts through the cauldron and spreads across the floor, but he leaves me alone, for which I am thankful. I don’t like being put on the spot.

“Hagrid!” I exclaim at tea later that afternoon. “Did you read this article?" I slide the newspaper across the table. "It says someone tried to break into Gringotts on the same day we went to Diagon Alley! It could’ve been happening while we were at Gringotts!” Hagrid doesn’t meet my eyes as he glances at the article. 

“Huh. Musta bin a coincidence.” I read through the article again. 

**_The vault in question had, in fact, been emptied earlier that same day_ ** _.  _

I think of the grubby little package in vault 713, and how secretive Hagrid had been when I asked what it was. Was there something he wasn’t telling me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's another chapter for ya, I hope you enjoy it. There is a chance I'll be posting again this week, as I have a few days off, and might have time to write.
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	9. Flying

“Aimee! Aimee, you’ve got to see this!” Ron shouts from across the room. “Flying lessons start on Thursday!” I hurry over to the notice board, where a group of first years are gathered, chattering excitedly. I glance at the note. From the moment Ron told me about Quidditch, there’s nothing I’ve been looking forward to more than learning how to fly. 

“Oh, bloody hell! We have to practice with the Slytherins!” Ron groans. I shrug.

“That’s not that bad. At least we get to learn how to fly,” Ron looks at me, bewildered.

“Aimee.  _ Malfoy _ . He’s going to be a bloody menace!” I shrug again.

“Yeah, I guess. But, Ron.  _ Flying _ . We’re going to learn how to zoom through the air on bloody broomsticks! Don’t you realize how incredible that is?” It’s Ron’s turn to shrug.

“I mean, I’ve grown up playing Quidditch in the backyard with my brothers, so it’s nothing special.” I frown, and cross my arms over my chest.

“Well, it’s special for  _ me _ . You might have had a childhood where pots and pans clean themselves, where anything can be fixed with a simple wave of your wand, and where it’s normal for people to fly on broomsticks, but I didn’t. I grew up in a Muggle household, and this is exciting to me, so can you please,  _ please _ , just let me be happy and excited for myself?” Ron turns as red as his hair, and stutters for a couple seconds before forming a full reply.

“I’m sorry, Aimee. I just sometimes forget you didn’t grow up in the wizarding world. I’m sorry for being such a prick.” He keeps his face turned down towards his toes.

“It’s okay, Ron. I forgive you. It’s just that sometimes when I forget how much there is still for me to learn, you always find ways to remind me. I know you don’t do it on purpose, it’s just natural because you’ve grown up with magic your whole life.” Ron looks at me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Aimee. You know, I reckon you’re way too wise to be just eleven years old.” I laugh, and then things are back to normal. It was just that simple. I wish it was that easy to solve problems with Dudley back home.

Flying lessons can’t come soon enough. But when that Thursday finally does arrive, I'm much more scared than excited. What if I make a fool of myself in front of half our year? Malfoy will relentlessly tease me if I do something stupid like fall off my broom, and, knowing me, that's exactly what I'll do.

“Oh, don’t worry, Aimee, you’ll be completely fine.” Fay says as we make our way towards the Quidditch pitch. “I’ve flown a couple times with Samuel, and it’s pretty easy to get the hang of.” Somehow, she always knows the right thing to say.

“I hope so,” I say. “Does your brother play Quidditch, then?” she shakes her head. 

“Not anymore. He played for Ravenclaw his fourth year, but didn’t make the cut again after that.” she shrugs. “He was never very good, anyway.” Hermione shushes us as we approach the field. I roll my eyes, but stop talking anyway.

Madam Hooch is a short woman with spiky grey hair and fierce yellow eyes. She almost looks like a hawk.

“Alright class. Welcome to Flying. Today we’re just going to start with the basics; summoning your broom, push-offs, et cetera. Now. Everyone pick a broom to stand next to and when I give the command, say, ‘Up!’” The first years obediently follow instructions, and within minutes, each student is paired with a broom.

“Up!” I say, and my broom flies right into my hand. I stagger back, shocked. It takes Ron a little longer to summon his broom, and Hermione still hasn’t gotten hers when Madam Hooch blows her whistle. 

“Alright, everyone, now you may mount your broom. When I give the signal, you may push off a few feet into the air.  _ A few feet _ . And don’t, I repeat,  _ do not _ push off until I blow my whistle.” We nod in affirmation and mount our brooms. Madam Hooch raises her whistle to her lips, but something stops her from blowing. Neville has accidentally pushed off too early, and now he’s hovering a good ten feet in the air rapidly gaining height.

“Mr. Longbottom!” Madam Hooch shouts. “Mr. Longbottom! Return to the ground this instant!” Neville’s fingers are clenched around the broom handle so tightly his knuckles are white. His face is clearly panicked.

“I-I can’t!” he whimpers, still rising. He’s almost out of earshot. Madam Hooch mounts her broom.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” she says, pushing off to go retrieve Neville. “Don’t move, Mr. Longbottom!” she shouts up to his ever retreating form. Neville leans forward on his broom, maybe to hear Madam Hooch better, maybe to try and float back down, but he must lean too far, because the next thing I know is he’s falling. Madam Hooch shouts down in horror, and mutters a spell. Neville’s form slows down, hitting the ground at a much less fatal rate. Madam Hooch descends down beside him. Neville is curled up in a ball, cradling his wrist.

“Oh, dear, a broken wrist. Don’t worry, Mr. Longbottom, Madam Pomfrey can have you fixed up in a jiffy.” She helps Neville stand back up, then addresses the rest of the class. 

“I’m going to take Mr. Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. If I hear any of you have lifted even a toe off the ground, I will have you back on the train to London before you can say ‘Quidditch!’” As soon as Madam Hooch is out of sight, Malfoy leans down to pick something shiny off the ground. He holds it up for the class to see. Neville’s Remembrall.

“Look what I found!” he shouts. “Reckon Longbottom will miss this?” I stomp up to him, my broom still clenched tightly in my right hand.

“Give it to me, Malfoy,” I say angrily. 

“No, thank you, I don’t think I will.” he smirks. “I think I’ll hide it somewhere.” he hops on his broom. “How ‘bout the roof?” he shouts, already a solid fifteen feet in the air. I mount my broom. I’m not even sure what makes me do it, it just angers me so much to see the way Malfoy treats Neville.

“Aimee, what do you think you’re doing?” Hermione demands, marching up to me. “You heard Madam Hooch! You’re not allowed to fly!” I shrug, and push off the ground. I hear a cheer from Fay, and a couple other Gryffindors. I rise into the air unsteadily.

"Give it here, Malfoy." I say determinedly, catching up with the blonde boy. He seems surprised I actually followed him. In all honesty, I’m pretty surprised, too.

"I don't think I will, Potter," Malfoy sneers as he flies higher. "I think we'll play a little game of hide and seek, won't we," Malfoy says, then chucks Neville's Remembrall toward the school. It arcs toward the ground and I race after it, stretching out my hand to catch the clear ball as I pull out of a steep dive. The Gryffindors let out a cheer as I hold up the Remembrall.

“AIMEE POTTER!” a voice shouts. I turn around to see Professor McGonagall, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen her. She grabs me by the collar and I flinch, expecting a slap to the face. But she just drags me toward the castle entrance, muttering the whole time.

“I can’t believe- never in all my time at Hogwarts- could’ve broken your neck- foolish child,” I glance back to see Malfoy’s smug grin and Ron’s apologetic frown. Hermione has a look on her face that says ‘I told you so.’ McGonagall drags me down the hall. This is it, then. I’ve not even lasted a month at Hogwarts and I’ll be back at the Dursleys by nightfall. I don’t want to think how Vernon will react. Professor McGonagall finally lets go of me and steps inside the Charms classroom.

“Professor Flitwick, if I could borrow Wood for a moment?” Wood? Is that some sort of magical cane she’s going to use on me? A boy steps out of the classroom.

“Follow me, you two,” McGonagall says in her usual stern voice. I follow the burly 5th year to McGonagall’s office and we sit down.

“Wood, this is Aimee Potter. Potter, This is Oliver Wood. Wood, I believe we’ve found you a Seeker.” Oliver’s expression changes from puzzlement to delight.

“No way, Professor. Are you serious?” McGonagall nods.

“Her natural talent was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Potter, was that your first time on a broom?” I nod, still slightly confused. So she isn’t going to punish me?

“She caught a Remembrall coming out of a fifty foot dive. Not a scratch on her!” Oliver is beaming, now.

“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Aimee?” I shake my head.

“No, but my friend Ron was telling me about it on the train ride here.” Oliver walks over to me.

“Wood’s captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” McGonagall explains as Oliver starts examining me. I cross my arms over my stomach, self conscious and not at all liking the way he’s looking at me.

“She’s just the right build for a Seeker, too! Lightweight and speedy, although I reckon we’ll have to get her a proper broom, the old school Shooting Stars just won’t do. A Cleansweep Seven, I’d say, or maybe even a Nimbus.” Professor McGonagall nods primly.

“I’ll speak to Professor Dumbledore about the first year rule, see if he can bend it a bit.” She turns to leave the room, then glances back at me.

“Your father would have been proud, Aimee. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope your week is going well. Thank you so much to everyone leaving kudos and comments, you guys are amazing, and it's you that keeps me writing. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	10. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short chapter. I know, I know, I'm sorry. I hope to update soon though, with (hopefully) a longer chapter.

“Bloody hell! McGonagall is letting you play Quidditch? I don’t think a first year’s been on the team for years! So when do you start?” Ron demands at dinner.

“Next week,” I say. “But don’t tell anyone, yet. Oliver wants me to be his ‘secret weapon.’ Or at least, that’s what he said.” Hermione plops down across from us.

“I hope you’ll still focus on your studies, Aimee. I don’t care how important Quidditch seems, school is more so.” Ron looks absolutely miffed at this.

“Don’t worry, Hermione. I’ll be just as focused on school as I was before Quidditch.” That soothes Hermione.

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Aimee. I can always tutor you if you need the help, too.” I smile and blush a little. 

“Thanks, Hermione, I’ll let you know if I need help.”

“Enjoying a last meal, Potter? When are they kicking you out, then?” Malfoy appears behind me, Crabbe and Goyle by his side. I smirk.

“Actually, Malfoy, I wasn’t expelled.” I almost mention Quidditch but remember Oliver’s “secret weapon” proposal at the last second. Malfoy snorts.

“No point lying about it, Potter. We’ll all see you when you board the train back to your Muggles.” I shrug.

“You’ll be disappointed, then, I’m afraid. I’m here to stay.” I glance at my plate. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really would like to continue eating.” Malfoy’s smirk disappears.

“Think you’re smart, do you, Potter? Perfect little Potter and her dead parents.” I jump up from my seat, but Ron pulls me back down.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ bring my parents into this,” I say. Malfoy and his cronies laugh.

“I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, Potter. I forgot you were so  _ sensitive _ ,” he mocks.

“Sod off, Malfoy, you don’t know anything,” Malfoy laughs again, but does finally leave. I turn back to my meal, but I’ve lost my appetite.

“I think I’m just going to go to bed.” I say. “I’m not really hungry anymore.” Hermione looks up, a worried expression on her face.

“Are you sure?” she asks. I nod. “Well, okay, then. I’ll be up soon, I want to get a head start on that Charms essay anyway.” I nod.

“See you tomorrow, Aimee.” Ron smiles and turns back to his plate.

_ “Say it, freak!” Petunia urges. “Admit it!” I cower behind the dining room table. Petunia takes a step forward, and so does Vernon. I’m trapped. Vernon smacks his belt against his hands harshly. _

_ “You’d better do as your aunt says, you ungrateful whelp,” I back further into the corner.  _

_ “Or maybe,” Petunia starts, a frying pan suddenly in her hand, “We should ask your freaky little friends?” Ron and Hermione appear on the ground, except they don’t look like themselves. Their skin is pale, and blood is dripping from an identical wound in each of their heads. My back touches the wall. I’m trapped. _

_ “Okay!” I relent. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt my friends. Please.” Vernon and Petunia continue creeping towards me. _

_ “Say it!” Petunia shrieks. I raise my arms to cover my face. _

_ “I’m sorry!” I cry. “It’s my fault my parents died! It’s my fault you got landed with me! I deserve-” _

“Aimee! Aimee, wake up!” Hermione’s pleading voice draws me out of my nightmare. I shut my mouth when I realize I’m screaming. Hermione and Fay are crouched around my bed, while Parvati and Lavender are watching the scene from a distance. Hermione reaches to put her hand on my shoulder, but I flinch away.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream. Hermione backs away, a frightened look on her face. I instantly feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” I say, much quieter. “I’m sorry.” Hermione hesitantly reaches her arm back towards me, waiting for my consent. I give her a weak nod. She pulls me into a hug, and I cry into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, but Hermione just shushes me. I can’t tell how long it’s been before she finally lets go. The other girls have gone back to bed, or are at least being courteous enough to give us some privacy. Hermione pulls the curtains closed and sits cross-legged across from me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly. I wipe some more tears from my eyes and shake my head.

“It was just a stupid nightmare.” I say. “It doesn’t matter.” Hermione looks at me skeptically.

“If you say so,” she says quietly. “You should get some sleep.” I nod.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” I say.

“It’s okay, Aimee. Don’t worry about it.” I nod, not quite believing her. Vernon would always throw a fit when I woke him in the middle of the night. “Do you want me to stay here?” she asks. I think about it for a moment, then nod. A little more embarrassment can’t hurt, can it?

We lie down next to each other. It’s a little bit awkward, but it feels nice to be close to someone. It feels nice to have someone care.

We don’t talk about my nightmare the next morning. I can tell Hermione’s still thinking about it, though. She and Fay keep shooting worried glances at me, so I put on my brightest smile and try to act cheerful. I’m not sure they fall for it.

The next night I don’t remember my nightmare, but I can tell I won’t be falling back asleep, so I slip some shoes on and creep silently from the dorms. Might as well get to know the castle better when I have the chance, right? Better than getting lost on the way to class. I find myself in the trophy room. It’s unlocked, so I slip inside. Trophies and medals line every inch of the wall. A guy named Tom Riddle won both the Award for Special Services to the School, and Medal for Magical Merit. I wonder what special services he completed to win an award. It’s dated almost 50 years ago.

“Sniff around, my sweet, I’m sure there’s some disobedient children out of bed tonight,” I freeze, hearing Filch’s voice. He sounds just around the corner. I slowly back out of the trophy room, then sprint down the corridor and into an empty classroom. Unfortunately, I’m not alone.

“Oooh,” a voice sounds behind me. I whirl around to see Peeves. “An ickle firstie, out of bed? You’re gonna get in trou-ble,” he says.

“Peeves, please. Please don’t say anything.” Peeves puts a finger to his chin in mock concentration.

“Hmmm. I don’t think so. Oh, Filch!” he yells. “STUDENT OUT OF BED!” 

“Dammit, Peeves,” I say, running out of the room. At the end of the corridor there’s a door. I rush towards it, but the knob won’t turn.

“Bloody hell,” I murmur furiously. I remember Flitwick teaching us a spell to unlock doors just a few days ago, but what was the incantation? Aloha, Lohomortis... Alohomora!

“Alohomora!” I say, and the lock clicks open. I shut it quickly behind me, then turn to face the room. A giant, three-headed dog looks me directly in the eye. I scream as it lunges at me. I fall to the floor, scrambling up and out of the room, three jaws snapping behind me. I sprint all the way back to the common room, breathing heavily as I lay back down in bed. 

Mother of Merlin, what the  _ hell _ just happened? I think back to what I saw beneath the paws of that beast. A trapdoor. Which means the dog was guarding something. But what? And does this have anything to do with that package Hagrid took from Gringotts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry this chapter was so short. But remember, feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	11. Hagrid, you have a three-headed dog??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter, not much plot. Hang with me though, it will get better.

“Hermione, you’ll never guess what I saw last night,” I say at breakfast. She doesn’t look up from her book.

“What,” she says absentmindedly. I snap my fingers in front of her face.

“Hermione. I’m talking to you,” She finally looks up.

“ _ What _ , Aimee?” she asks exasperatedly.

“I said you’ll never guess what I saw last night,” Hermione shakes her head.

“You’re right. I’ll never guess,” I ignore her tone.

“So I was wandering about the castle, yeah?” Hermione sighs.

“Aimee, you know that’s against the rules,” I frown.

“Geez, Hermione, not everything is about the rules. So I was in the trophy room, and all of a sudden, Mrs. Norris appeared. So I run, like any sane student. I go into this empty classroom-” 

“Is there a point to all this?” Hermione interrupts. I frown. What is her deal today?

“Patience, Mione! Anyway, long story short, I end up on the third floor. I didn’t realize it, of course, this was all during my breakaway from Filch. There’s this room, at the end of the corridor, that has a giant three-headed dog! And you’ll never guess what it’s standing on,” I don’t wait for Hermione to respond. “A trapdoor! I bet it's guarding something...” I drift off.

“You’re saying you saw a three-headed dog.” Hermione says. I nod. “And it was standing on a trapdoor.” I nod again. “And you were alone, correct? So no one else saw this… three-headed dog.” I cross my arms. She doesn’t believe me. Of course she doesn’t. No one ever believes me.

“I’m telling you, I saw it!” Hermione turns back to her book.

“Of course you did,” she says condescendingly. Ron plops down across from us.

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?” he asks. 

“Aimee says she saw a three-headed dog,” Hermione sniffs.

“I did see a three-headed dog!” Ron’s eyes widen.

“Really? No way! Where?”

“On the third floor. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I was wandering the castle.” Ron shakes his head in amazement.

“That’s so cool. Why do you think it was there?” Hermione sniffs again and snaps her book shut.

“Are you two buffoons almost done chit-chattering? Because I’m trying to focus, and all this nonsense talk is making that very hard.” I frown.

“Sod off, Hermione,” Ron says. She stands up.

“Fine. I’ll see you in class,” she says and storms out of the Great Hall.

“Merlin’s beard, what’s her problem?” Ron asks. I shrug and turn back to my food.

“So there was this trap door, and the dog was standing on top of it. I think it’s guarding something.” Ron shovels a forkload of potatoes into his mouth.

“But what? What’s so important that you need a giant vicious dog to guard it?” I shrug.

“That’s what I was thinking about. When Hagrid and I went to Gringotts, he grabbed this package, maybe two inches long, from vault 713 or something. He was really mysterious about it, too. I wonder if that has anything to do with this.” Ron nods.

“Well why don’t we ask Hagrid after class?” I nod. A screeching sound fills the air, and I glance toward the ceiling. Post time. Hedwig doesn’t usually bring me much, but today she drops a large parcel on my lap. I feed her a piece of toast then grab the note.

_ DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. _

_ It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everyone knowing you’ve got a broomstick, for they’ll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch Field at seven o’clock for your first training session. _

_ Minerva McGonagall _

I pass the note to Ron.

“Crikey, Aimee!” he says when he’s finished reading. “You must be bloody good for McGonagall to get you a broomstick!” I feel my face heat up.

“I guess, I mean, I’ve never actually played before.” Ron nods. 

“Yeah but you’re Aimee Potter. Of course you’re gonna be good at Quidditch. Well, come on, then! Let’s go upstairs and open it!” Ron takes a last bite of potatoes before we leave the Great Hall and head to the common room.

After classes end for the day, Ron and I meet by the Great Hall and walk to Hagrid’s. 

“Aimee! Ron! Wha’ a lovely su’prise!” Hagrid says as he opens the door. “Well, don’ jus’ stand there, come on in!” I follow Ron into the tiny hut.

“So wha’ brings abou’ this visit?” Ron and I glance at each other.

“Hagrid, why is there a three-headed dog on the third floor?” Hagrid frowns and looks guiltily down at his lap.

“Now, how is it tha’ yeh know abou’ Fluffy?” he asks.

“Blimey, Hagrid, that thing’s got a name?” I ask.

“Well o’ course! He’s mine, in’t he?” Ron almost spits out his tea.

“He’s yours? For Merlin’s sake, Hagrid, why didn’t you tell us you had a secret three-headed dog?” Hagrid shakes his head.

“I don’ know how yeh know abou’ Fluffy, but wha’ he does is between Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel. Yeh don’ need teh know-” Hagrid pauses, noticing we are hanging off his every word.

“I shouldn’t ‘ave said that. Now why don’ the two of yeh run along to dinner, eh?” Hagrid practically shoves us out his door.

“Who’s Nicolas Flamel?” I ask Ron as we walk back to the castle. Ron shakes his head.

“I have no idea, but we might know someone who does,” he says as we enter the Great Hall.

“So, Hermione,” Hermione sniffs as we sit down next to her.

“Hello,” she says. "I'm sorry for this morning, I'm not sure what got into me,"

“It's alright, Mione,” Ron says. “We’ve just been talking to Hagrid, and the dog belongs to him.” Hermione’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Really? You were serious about that? Hagrid has a three-headed dog?” I nod in confirmation.

“Yup. Named Fluffy.” Hermione flushes and she glances down at her plate.

"I really am sorry about this morning," she says. I shake my head.

"Don't sweat it, Mione. It's really okay," 

“So do you know who Nicolas Flamel is?” Ron asks Hermione. She flips through the book she was reading when Ron and I arrived.

“Nicolas Flamel? Yeah, I think he’s the one who created the Sorcerer’s Stone. And the Elixir of Life,” I slap my head in frustration.

“Of course! I saw his name on the back of Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card! Mione, how big would you say the Sorcerer’s Stone is?” Hermione shrugs.

“I’m not sure, but probably pretty small. Two, maybe three inches?” Ron and I look at each other. Hermione glances between us.

“What? What is it?” Ron and I fill her in on the package Hagrid took from vault 713, about the same size Hermione thought the Stone would be.

“So you think Fluffy is guarding the Stone? But why? Is someone trying to steal it?” I shrug. 

“I guess we’ll have to figure that out for ourselves,” I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry it's been so long since I've posted! More time passed than I thought. But I hope you liked this chapter! Always feel free to leave feedback in the comments!
> 
> Revised 04/20/20


	12. Happy Halloween

The first two months at Hogwarts flew by in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden it’s Halloween, and Ron is giving me a bucket full of sweets, while chomping down on about twenty liquorice wands at once. Hermione watches the whole scene, a disgusted frown on her face. 

“Honestly, how do you two eat that all?” she asks. Ron shrugs. I look down at my bucket. It’s still almost full.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to. But I can save some for later. Do you want to share?” I ask Hermione. She peers into the bucket before hesitantly grabbing a cauldron cake. She looks at me, a question in her eyes.

“Go for it,” I say. “I have plenty.” She still seems hesitant.

“Oh, Mother of Merlin!” Ron exclaims. “Just eat the damn thing! One would think you’ve never had a sweet before!” Hermione harrumphs.

“Well, my parents  _ are _ dentists, not to mention the hazardous downsides to your health from eating too much sugar. So what if I don’t eat a lot of candy. Sue me!” Despite her words, Hermione unwraps the cauldron cake and pops it in her mouth.

“Good, right?” I prompt once she swallows.

“Quite brilliant, actually.” I beam.

“What in the name of Merlin is a dentist?” Ron questions. Hermione and I laugh.

“They clean people’s teeth,” Hermione explains. “It’s a Muggle profession.” Ron still looks confused, but decides to let the subject drop in favor of a few more sugar quills. Hermione ends up trying three more sweets; chocolate frogs, liquorice wands, and even a few of the safer looking Bertie Bott’s.

Potions is our only class of the day, and Professor Snape is in a foul mood. Well, more foul than usual. Gryffindor leaves the class with about a hundred points less than we started the day with.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully for Halloween. About a thousand live bats are fluttering near the ceiling, every now and then swooping down near the students. Dumbledore just finishes giving a few words about Halloween and the importance of lemon drops, when Professor Quirrell bursts through the doors, his robes flying and his turban askew.

“TROLL! TROLL! In the dungeons! T-thought you ought to know,” he yells before promptly collapsing in the Great Hall. Chaos erupts, and students rush towards the doors, tripping over other kids in their haste. 

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore’s voice rings out through the hall, and quiet falls, the students all looking up towards the High Table.

“Prefects are to lead the students back to their dormitories. Please stay there until your Head of house tells you otherwise,” Percy, along with the other Prefects, start leading the students out of the Hall. I start to follow Ron back to Gryffindor Tower, but stop as I remember something.

“Ron!” I grab his arm and pull him out of the crowd. “Hermione! She went to the bathroom!” Ron shrugs.

“Yeah, but she knows how to get back to the common room,” he says. I sigh exasperatedly.

“No, Ron! She doesn’t know about the troll! We have to get her!” Ron glances back at the last of the Gryffindors still following Percy.

“Alright, alright. But if we get killed, I’m blaming you, Aimee,” I nod. 

“Wait! Aimee, Ron, where are you going?” Fay yells from the Gryffindor line. She hurries towards us, pushing through a crowd of Hufflepuffs. “Dumbledore said to go back to the common rooms!” Ron and I exchange a glance. 

“Hermione went to the bathroom,” I say. “We’re going after her. Will you make sure no one notices we’re gone?” Fay hesitates for a moment, then nods.

“Just be careful!” she shouts after us, as we join the Hufflepuffs, going the other way. We break away from them when we reach the girls’ bathroom. Footsteps sound from across the corridor and Ron pulls me behind a large stone griffin, whispering “Percy!” Although when we peer around the statue, we don’t see Percy, but Snape, crossing the corridor and rounding the corner.

“What’s he doing here?” Ron asks. “Shouldn’t he be with the rest of the teachers?” I shrug.

“Beats me,” I say. There’s a crash just down the hall, and I almost jump out of my skin. The troll is heading straight for the girls’ bathroom.

“Ron! Come on!” We sprint into the bathroom, where Hermione is backed into a corner, the troll quickly advancing. Ron grabs a fallen pipe from the floor and hurls it at the troll. 

“Hey, pea-brain! Over here, you dingus!” he yells. The troll turns around, and lumbers toward me and Ron.

“Hermione!” I yell. “Come on!” She doesn’t move, frozen in fear. I run around the troll and pull on Hermione’s arm. “Come on! Hermione, you have to move!” Finally she seems to register what’s happening. She gives into my grasp and I drag her to the other side of the room. By this time, Ron is in another corner, the troll advancing slowly. Hermione grabs my arm.

“Levitate it! You have to levitate his club!” I pull out my wand, but the angle is weird, and I might end up hurting Ron instead.

“Ron! You have to levitate the club! Drop it on his head!” Ron nods in understanding and quickly pulls out his wand. He hesitates before raising it.

“Come on, Ron, you got this!” Hermione screams. Ron raises his wand.

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ !” The troll’s club flies out of his hand and falls on his head. The troll wavers for a second, then drops to the floor, almost squishing Hermione and me.

“Is it- is it dead?” Hermione asks. I shake my head.

“I don’t think so. Knocked out, at least.” The bathroom door bursts open and a handful of teachers rush in. McGonagall puts a hand to her mouth in shock. Snape bends down next to the troll. McGonagall’s lips are white with fury. I take a step backwards.

“What were you children  _ thinking _ ? You could’ve been killed!” Hermione steps forward.

“I’m sorry, Professor, it was an accident. See, I went to the bathroom during dinner, so I didn’t know about the troll. Ron and Aimee only came to warn me.” Ron and I nod our agreement.

“Really, Professor, we didn’t know the troll would be here. We thought it was in the dungeons.” Ron adds. 

“We’re really sorry,” I say. “Once the troll was in here, there wasn’t really any way we could get a professor.” The teachers look amongst themselves, sharing looks as if reading each other’s minds.

“10 points to Gryffindor,” McGonagall says. “For each of you. Now, run along, before I change my mind about your foolish antics.” We waste no time in getting back to the tower, hardly daring to believe our luck.

With the month of November comes cold weather. Students have started wearing their cloaks each time they go outside, and the Potions classroom has become absolutely frigid. Even the fires beneath our cauldrons don’t seem to create any warmth. 

As he stalks around the classroom, I can’t help but notice Snape is walking with a limp. I nudge Ron.

“What do you think happened to him?” Ron glances at our professor.

“I have no idea. But whatever it is, I sure hope it’s hurting him.” Hermione whacks Ron on the back of his head.

“Ron!” she exclaims. “Have some respect! He’s still a professor!” Ron shrugs, but doesn’t say anything more. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” a dark voice sounds behind us. “For lack of focus.” Ron groans.

“But we were barely even talking!” he protests. 

“And that’s five more, for talking back.” Snape stalks away, and Ron puts his head in his hands. Malfoy snickers from across the room.

“Can’t you guys just behave for  _ one _ class?” Seamus asks from a few stations away. “You’re always losing points for us.” Ron snarls and gives Seamus the finger.

“Bugger off, why don’t you?” he says.

“Mr. Weasley, you’ve just lost your house another fifteen points.” Snape says without turning around. “As well as earning yourself a detention tonight. I do hope you enjoy cleaning cauldrons.” 

“Oh, that’s totally unfair!” I exclaim. “You didn’t punish Malfoy for ‘lack of focus,’ and he was laughing plenty!” As if to prove my point, Malfoy laughs again, and sticks his tongue out at me.

“You’ll be assisting Mr. Weasley with his cauldrons, Potter.” Snape bites out. 

“Bad luck, mate,” Ron says. “Sorry about that.” I just shrug. I actually find cleaning quite a calming activity. It feels good to make things shine.

“You two are ridiculous. Can’t you just learn to keep your mouths shut?” Hermione asks, adding in the last ingredient to our Forgetfulness Potion, and casting a Memory Charm to finish it off. As always, the potion is perfect. All thanks to Hermione, that is. 

As we near the end of dinner, I sigh and put my fork down.

“We should probably get going. Snape will have our heads if we’re late.” Ron grumbles angrily, and follows me out of the Hall sullenly.

No one answers as we knock on the door to Snape’s office.

“Professor?” I call out. Still no response. 

“Oh, come on, then, let’s just go back to the Great Hall if the greasy git isn’t here!” Ron says, tugging on my arm.

“No, Ron, then we’ll just be in even more trouble.” I knock one more time, then push the door open. Snape is sitting with his leg propped up, Madam Pomfrey carefully tending to it.

“-stupid dog,” Snape is saying. “Almost bit my whole damn leg off!” Ron and I slowly make to back out of the room, but Snape sees us before we can go anywhere.

“What the devil are you doing in here?” he snarls.

“Sir, we’re here for-” he doesn’t even let me finish.

“OUT! Get OUT!” I nod anxiously, and turn to leave. Ron is already sprinting towards the stairs. We don’t stop running until we get back to the common room.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaims. “What  _ was _ that?” I collapse in one of the squashy armchairs, my breathing finally starting to slow down.

“He was talking about Fluffy!” I say. “That’s why he’s been limping! I bet you anything he tried to get past the dog on Halloween!” Ron’s jaw dropped.

“You’re right! He wasn’t with the rest of the teachers! But that means-”

“Snape is trying to steal the Stone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard for me to write, for some reason I just couldn't get the words to come out right. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it :) Please leave a review if you can!
> 
> Revised 04/23/20


	13. I've got... presents?

“Come  _ on _ , Aimee, you’ve got to eat something,” Hermione urges. Today is my first Quidditch match, and it’s against Slytherin. I push my eggs around with a fork.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’m too nervous. Anything I eat will just come back up on the field,” Hermione pushes a slice of toast onto my plate.

“At least eat that. I want you to have enough energy to play today. We don’t need you fainting in midair and falling off your broom,” I snort. I’ve gone way longer without food, and been just fine. But when I hesitate, Hermione gives me a pointed look, and I eventually take a bite of the toast. No point in arguing with her once her mind’s set. 

“All right, gentlemen,” Oliver starts.

“And women,” Angelina Johnson puts in. Oliver nods.

“Right. Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins again. “This is it.”

“The big one,” Fred adds.

“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” George continues.

“We know his speech by heart,” Fred says to me.

“We were on the team last year,” George finishes.

“He uses the same speech every time,” they say together.

“Yeah, Oliver, you could do well with some new material.” Angelina adds sardonically.

“Oh, not you too, Angelina,” Oliver says. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. I think we have a real shot at winning this one, thanks to our secret weapon.” Here he pauses to wink at me, “You just gotta keep your head in the game, and we’ve got this.” Oliver stares us all in the eyes, as if to say ‘or else.’

“Alright, then, team, it’s time. Let’s go,” We head out onto the field, where Madam Hooch is waiting with the Quaffle in hand. 

“Now, students, I want a nice, clean game.” Madam Hooch says. “From all of you,” she adds, glaring at the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint. He grins maliciously. We mount our brooms as Madam Hooch blows her whistle and the players take off. I fly high above the field, searching for the Snitch, while simultaneously watching the game take place below me. Lee Jordan, a friend of Fred and George’s, is commentating the match. 

Alicia Spinnet steals the Quaffle from one of the Slytherin chasers, and speeds toward the hoops. She launches the ball into the air, and hits it in the direction of Slytherin’s left hoop. The keeper dives for the ball, but misses by a fraction.

“Ten points for Gryffindor!” Lee Jordan yells into the microphone. “Great score from Alicia Spinnet, such an amazing player. Quite attractive, too, if I don’t say so myself.”

“JORDAN!” Professor McGonagall yells.

“Sorry, Professor,” Lee says, not sounding at all sorry.

Gryffindor scores a few more times before I finally catch sight of the Snitch hovering just in the center of the field. I immediately dive for it, seeing the Slytherin Seeker follow my movements out of the corner of my eye. We shoot forward, side by side, hands out for the Snitch. All of a sudden, my broom starts moving of its accord, bucking wildly up and down and side to side. 

I lose sight of the Snitch, but luckily Slytherin’s seeker does too. My broom does a barrel roll, and I fall, managing to hang on with just one arm. I grab wildly for the bucking broom above me, but no luck. Chaser Katie Bell flies beneath me, and pulls me onto her broom, trying to calm my own while keeping her eye on the game. After a few agonizing minutes, my broom finally stops bucking, and I clamber back onto it.

“Thanks, Katie!” I shout, and she gives me a mock salute before flying back into the action. 

Gryffindor scores three times, and Slytherin twice before I catch sight of the Snitch again, hovering by the Slytherin hoops. I drift slowly that way, trying to make the movement look casual. The Slytherin seeker continues his own search for the little gold ball. When I’m close enough to the hoops, I make a wild lunge for the tiny ball, which zooms out ahead of me. I chase the Snitch, zig-zagging through the pitch, until the tiny ball stops suddenly in front of me. Unable to stop myself, I feel something spherical lodge itself in my throat. I tumble off my broom, hitting the ground on all fours, and cough up the Snitch. I stare at the little ball in shock for a few seconds, then hold it above my head to show the crowd.

“I got the Snitch!” I yell, a smile spreading across my face. “I got the Snitch!” The Gryffindors break out in cheers. Even usually stern Professor McGonagall is smiling. 

“That was totally brilliant, Aimee!” Fay shouts as I exit the locker room. A crowd of Gryffindors are standing behind her.

“Amazing,” says a third year I’ve never seen before.

“Never seen anything like it!” Dean Thomas says from the back of the group. I spot Ron and Hermione a short ways away from the ever growing crowd of Gryffindors, and I make my way over to them, dismissing the others as quick as I can.

I had totally forgotten about my bucking broom until Ron brings it up on our way back to Gryffindor tower. 

“It was Snape,” he says. “He was cursing your broom, Mione and I saw it!” Hermione nods.

“It’s true,” she confirms. “He was staring right at you, and muttering under his breath.”

“But why?” I ask. “Was he that determined for Gryffindor to lose?” Ron and Hermione exchange glances.

“We don’t really know.” Ron nods in agreement.

“But we have a few theories.” Ron and Hermione exchange another glance. “Aimee, we think he might have been trying to kill you.” I stop walking.

“Hold on,” I say. “You think Snape - a  _ professor _ \- tried to kill me?” Ron shrugs.

“Think about it. We saw Snape heading towards the third floor when the troll broke in, and he knows we saw his leg. He probably thinks you’re a threat, and wants to make sure he gets the Stone without any difficulties.” I groan.

“Merlin, you’re right. I really wish you  _ weren’t _ right, Ron.” he sighs.

“For once, I wish I wasn’t, too.”

Despite the possibility of death looming as a constant thought in the back of my head, Christmas break arrives quite quickly. Fay and Hermione are going home to spend time with their families along with Parvati and Lavender, so I’m alone in the girls’ dorm. Ron and I are staying at the Hogwarts. He originally had plans to go home, but last minute his parents decided to go visit his brother Charlie in Romania. 

I wake early the morning of Christmas, as it was always custom to make the Dursleys a nice breakfast for the holiday. Ron is already awake, and sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, starting to unwrap his first gift.

“Happy Christmas, Aimee!” he says when he sees me. “We’ve got presents!” he gestures to the tree, and sure enough, I notice a few packages with my name on them. 

“Those- those are for me?” Ron nods.

“Yeah, of course! What, did you think we’d not get you presents? Go on, then. Open one!” I hesitantly reach for one of the gifts, watching Ron to make sure this wasn’t all a trick. I’ve never gotten a gift before, so I unwrap the parcel very gently, taking care to not rip the paper. Ron’s face reddens as he sees what’s inside.

“Oh, bugger, Mum’s made you a Weasley sweater,” I lift the knitted item and hold it up to myself.

“It’s wonderful! Your mum made this?” I ask Ron. He nods, his cheeks still tinged pink. 

“She’s probably made you some fudge, too, check the paper,” I sift through the wrapping paper, and, sure enough, there are a few tinfoil wrapped squares that smell heavenly.

“Will you thank your mum for me, Ron? She really needn’t spend so much time on me,” 

“Oh don’t worry about it, I’m sure she rather enjoyed it,” I reach for another package with my name on it, reading the card first.

**_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you._ **

**_Use it well._ **

“Well?” Ron demands. “What is it?” I slip a shimmery piece of fabric out of the wrapping.

“It’s a cloak!” I say. Ron drops his chocolate frog.

“Holy cricket! That’s not just any cloak! Aimee, that’s an  _ invisibility _ cloak!” I look down at the fabric in my hands.

“No way, really?” I ask. Ron nods eagerly.

“Try it on, then!” I stand up, pulling the soft fabric around my body. Ron’s jaw drops, and when I look down at myself, all I see is the carpet I was standing on. My body is gone!

“That’s so cool!” Ron says. I nod my head in agreement. I set the cloak down on the ground next to me as I reach for the last few presents. Fay gave me a book about Quidditch, and Hermione sent me a large box of Chocolate Frogs, which I set aside to eat later. From Hagrid I get a handmade flute, which sounds a bit like an owl. I probably won’t play it, but it’s nice to know he thought of me. 

Finally I turn to the last present. It’s not wrapped, really, just a paper bag with some tissue covering the gift inside. I read the note first.

_ We got your ungrateful ass a present. We figured you could use these to lose some weight, as you’re no doubt gaining too much at that blasted school. We don’t want a fat girl coming back to us, now do we? _

_ Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia _

I peer inside the bag. A bottle of laxatives sits at the bottom. I feel tears come to my eyes.

“What is it?” Ron asks, as he had been watching me open the present. I wipe my eyes frantically.

“It’s- uh- it’s nothing,” I choke out, pushing the bag and note out of my sight. Ron gives me one more look before turning back to his container of Bertie Bott’s. 

“If you say so,” he says. I nod, but the morning is ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying this fic!
> 
> Revised 05/09/20


	14. The Mirror of Erised

I wake up in the middle of the night, scared out of my wit from a nightmare I don’t remember. I can instantly tell I won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night, so I grab the invisibility cloak and head out into the hallways.

I wander aimlessly, for about an hour before stumbling into an open classroom. A large mirror sits in the corner, and I make my way over to it, wondering why on earth someone would keep a mirror in an abandoned classroom. The cloak falls from my shoulders as I gaze into it. A group of people stands behind me. I put a hand to my mouth to stop from screaming as I whirl around to check the classroom behind me. Empty. 

I slowly turn back to face the mirror, where my reflection shows a less than empty room. A woman with red hair the same shade as mine smiles kindly. A man with messy black hair and glasses holds her hand. Behind them are the other students I’ve become close with at Hogwarts; Hermione, Ron, Fay, Neville, Fred, George and others, all gaze at me lovingly. At the very back of the crowd, I see the Dursleys, the same loving look in their eyes. I almost don’t recognize them; that look in their eyes is so foreign. They look almost… proud.

I back away from the mirror, with the feeling I’ve discovered something forbidden. I throw the cloak back over my head and run back to the common room. I don’t need to get in trouble for sneaking around past curfew.

The next few nights I return to the mirror, wanting to see more of my parents. 

“Ah, back again, are we, Aimee?” a voice sounds behind me. I jump, letting out a very undignified squeak. Albus Dumbledore is sitting on one of the desks behind me.

“I- I’m sorry, sir, I- I didn’t see you there,” Dumbledore waves his hand dismissively.

“ **Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you** ,” he says, with a twinkle in his eyes. “So, I see you’ve discovered the Mirror of Erised. I assume you’ve figured out its purpose by now?” he asks.

“It, um, shows you what you want? Like I want to be able to meet my parents, so they appear in the mirror,” Dumbledore nods approvingly.

“Very good, Aimee. Although the Mirror of Erised shows not just what we want, but our hearts’ greatest desire. The thing we want so bad it aches from the bottom of our souls.” I nod.

“Tomorrow this mirror will be moved to a new home, Aimee, and I have to ask that you do not go looking for it. Greater witches and wizards have wasted away gazing into it,” I nod again.

“Yes, sir,” I say obediently.

“ **It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?** ” Dumbledore says these words lightly, but there is a hint of venom behind them that I cannot determine the reason for. I reach for the cloak when something occurs to me.

“Professor Dumbledore,” I ask. “What do you see in the mirror?” Dumbledore gazes at me thoughtfully for a second.

“You don’t have to answer, sir, I mean, I know it’s a personal question. I’m sorry, sir,” I ramble. Dumbledore turns his gaze to the mirror.

“Don’t worry, Aimee. I do not take offense. I see…” he trails off for a second. “I see an old friend,” he says eventually. “Now we should both be off to bed. I believe classes start up tomorrow, do they not?” I nod silently, throwing the cloak over my head as I exit the classroom.

“Goodnight, Professor,” I whisper as I leave.

“Alright team, this could be the big game. I need you to all play a clean game, because with Snape refereeing, we don’t want to give him too much reason to favor Hufflepuff.” Oliver says the morning of our Quidditch match. The team bursts into complaints. 

“Snape’s refereeing?” George demands.

“That’s not fair, everyone knows he loathes Gryffindor!” Fred adds. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell jump in with similar arguments. Oliver quiets everyone by sticking two fingers in his mouth and blowing. 

“It’s not my fault he’s the referee, we just gotta make sure we play a fair game so he doesn’t pick on us!” The team nods in agreement. As we head out onto the field, Oliver pats me on the shoulder.

“Now, I don’t want to put too much pressure on you, Aimee, but if we ever needed to win a game, this is the one. Try to catch the Snitch quickly, so Snape doesn’t have that much time to pick on us.” I nod and walk out onto the field. 

The stands are packed, even Dumbledore is here. So much for no pressure. The game doesn’t last long, as I catch the Snitch within five minutes. Cheers rise from the Gryffindor section of the stands as I hop off my broom. After a few minutes of too many high fives and bodies touching mine, I sneak out of the crowd and into the locker room, starting back towards the castle after a few more minutes. I stop in my tracks when I see a dark robed figure running towards the woods. Snape. I take one more glance back at the castle, and then hop on my broom and follow the professor’s dark figure. I fly low above the trees, stopping when I hear voices. I recognize Quirrell’s stutter and Snape’s drawl.

“ **... d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…** ” Quirrell is saying.

“ **Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,** ” Snape says. I fly a little lower to hear better, but stay high enough to stay out of sight. “ **Students aren’t supposed to know about the Sorcerer’s Stone, after all.** ” Quirrell starts to mumble something, but Snape cuts him off.

“ **Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?** ”

“ **B-b-but Severus, I-** ”

“ **You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,** ”

“ **I-I don’t know what you-** ”

“ **You know perfectly well what I mean.** ” An owl hoots nearby, blocking out half of Snape’s next sentence.

“ **-your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.** ”

“ **B-but I d-d-don’t-** ”

“ **Very well, we’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie.** ” With that, Snape throws his cloak over his head and stalks out of the clearing.

“Oh, Aimee, there you are! We’ve been looking for you all over!” Hermione says when I get back to the common room. 

“We won!” Ron shouts, clapping me on the back. “And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville took on Crabbe and Goyle single-handedly! He’s in the Hospital Wing right now, unconscious, but Pomfrey says he’ll be alright. I still can’t believe we won!” Ron says all of this very fast.

“Oh, I hope Neville is okay, but never mind that now,” I give a quick recap of what I heard in the forest.

“So we were right, it is the Sorcerer’s Stone!” Ron says when I finish. I nod.

“And it looks like Quirrell is the only thing standing in the way of Snape stealing it!” Hermione adds. I nod again.

“In that case, we don’t have long. He seemed ready to break tonight, so I’d say we don’t have until next week, even.” The three of us exchange glances.

“I suppose we’d better talk to McGonagall or the Headmaster, they’re bound to know what to do, and they’re certainly stronger than Quirrell.” Hermione says. 

“Yeah. Maybe tomorrow after Transfiguration? If we tell McGonagall, she’ll probably tell Dumbledore,” I say. The other two nod their agreement. 

“It’s settled then. We’ll stay after class tomorrow,” And just like that, we have a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Because I have been doing some editing, there are actually going to be more chapters in this work than there were originally. I hope you like it!
> 
> Revised 05/09/20


	15. Hagrid has a dragon now??

“Professor McGonagall, can we ask you something?” Hermione says timidly once the other students have left the classroom.

“Of course, but be quick. I have a class of sixth years any minute.” McGonagall says as she turns towards us.

“Well,” Ron starts. “We, er, we think someone’s trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone,” he finishes. McGonagall sighs.

“I’m not sure how you three know about the Stone, and I’m not going to ask. I don’t think I want to know. However, I can assure you that the Stone is perfectly safe. Multiple teachers have placed high security protections around it, and I don’t believe anyone will be getting through those,” I sigh, and recite the conversation I heard between Quirrell and Snape in the forest.

“I have to admit, that is rather suspicious. Don’t worry, I’ll look into it. Now, you three had better get to class, but hold on a second, I’ll write you a pass,” McGonagall hands us a slip of paper, and dismisses us with a wave of her hand. 

“I don’t know if that really helped,” I say as we head to Charms. “I don’t think she really believes us.”

“We should talk to Dumbledore, too, then,” Ron says.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore is nowhere to be found. He doesn’t show at any meals the rest of that day, or the next. 

“Where  _ is _ he?” Hermione demands under her breath as another meal passes with no sign of the Headmaster.

“Who are you looking for?” Fay asks, causing Hermione to turn sharply in her direction.

“Oh,” she stutters. “Er- no one.” Fay gives us a skeptical look.

“Come on,” she says. “Tell me! What are you three up to?” I look at Ron and Hermione.

“We need to talk to Dumbledore,” I say eventually. Fay frowns.

“Well he’s probably doing some work at the Ministry. I haven’t seen him for a couple days.”

“He works for the Ministry of Magic?” I ask. Fay nods.

“Well, not  _ technically _ , but Fudge is such a blubbering idiot that he has to call Dumbledore down there almost every week to help with some odd thing or the other.” 

“Who’s Fudge?” I ask. Hermione, Ron and Fay all give me incredulous looks.

“Cornelius Fudge!” Ron exclaims. “The MInister of Magic!” I blush. Why do I always have to ask such stupid questions?

“Oh, right.” I say. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fay says. “But that’s probably where he is. What do you need to talk to him so urgently about, anyway?” I look at Ron and Hermione again. I open my mouth to tell Fay to just let us be, but Hermione cuts me off.

“Quills!” she blurts out. Ron and I stare at her. 

“Er- yeah,” I say, wondering where Hermione is going with this.

“Aimee and I want to learn how to write,” she says. Fay frowns.

“You’re telling me Hermione Granger, brightest witch in our class, doesn’t know how to  _ write _ ?” The disbelief is clear in her voice.

“Not with quills.” I say quickly, catching Hermione’s eye. “Muggles only use pens and pencils. I’d never even  _ seen _ a quill before Hogwarts.”

“We thought Dumbledore might be able to set up a class that Muggle-raised wizards can take. Maybe even some others, if their handwriting is bad enough.” Here Hermione glares at Ron.

“Hey!” he says, holding his hands up in defense. “It’s not  _ that _ bad!” I roll my eyes. It  _ is _ pretty bad. I’m surprised teachers can even read his work.

“You know, that’s actually a pretty brilliant idea,” Fay says. “I’ve never thought about how different wizards are from Muggles, and how hard it must be to acclimate to wizarding culture.” Hermione smiles brightly at Fay’s approval of our spontaneous idea.  _ I _ just hope she doesn’t make us follow through. Although, a writing class really wouldn’t be too bad of an idea, I suppose.

Another day passes before Dumbledore finally makes an appearance in the Great Hall. I nudge Ron and Hermione.

“He’s back!” I whisper. Once dinner ends, we hurriedly make our way towards Dumbledore as he exits the Hall.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Ron shouts. Dumbledore turns around and smiles brightly, his eyes twinkling.

“Ah, Mr. Weasley!” he greets joyously. “Ms. Potter, Ms. Granger,” he adds, nodding to me and Hermione.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I take a deep breath.

“It’s about the Sorcerer’s Stone,” I say quietly.

“Oh, dear,” Dumbledore says. “Let’s take this to my office, shall we?”

Dumbledore’s office may be the strangest room I’ve ever been in. There are magical contraptions of all sorts scattered about the room, and portraits of all of Hogwarts’ previous Heads cover the walls. Their eyes follow us wherever we go.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione starts. “We think Professor Snape might be involved with-” Ron cuts her off.

“We think Snape is trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone!” he almost shouts. Hermione glares at him.

“I was getting there,” she hisses. Ron shrugs.

“You were taking too long,” he retorts.

“You believe Professor Snape is trying to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone?” Dumbledore asks thoughtfully. Hermione, Ron, and I nod in sync. The Headmaster clasps his hands and rests his chin on them.

“I have to say, that is certainly an interesting theory,” he says. I groan inwardly.

“Professor Dumbledore, you have to believe us!” I almost yell.

“But, ahh, my dear Aimee, I do believe you. I just don’t believe you have gotten the facts completely straight.” I look at the professor in shock.

“You- you believe us?” I ask. He nods.

“Of course, dear child!” I wince when he calls me that, and a shiver runs through my body. “However, I do not believe the thief is Professor Snape.” I look at him in confusion.

“But, sir, who do you think is trying to steal the Stone, if it isn’t Snape?” Ron demands.

“ _ Professor _ Snape, Mr. Weasley, and I have my suspicions,” Dumbledore stands up and walks out from behind his desk. 

“Thank you for telling me, children. Now, if I may escort you to your next class? I do believe you should be heading to Defense momentarily,” He starts walking towards the door.

“But, sir! The Stone! What’s going to happen to it?” Hermione demands, not budging.

“Don’t worry, my dear girl, everything is under control. I will take care of it,” After a few moments of silence, Hermione nods, clearly satisfied with Dumbledore’s answer, and we make our way to Professor Quirrell’s classroom.

Hagrid approaches us at dinner, his dark eyes darting all over the place, and a guilty look on his face.

“Do the three o’ yeh want teh come o’er teh my place tomorrow night?” Hagrid’s gruff voice startles me, and I flinch away from the sound on instinct.  _ It’s just Hagrid _ , I remind myself.  _ He’s safe _ . I force my face into a smile.

“Yeah, that sounds great, Hagrid!” I reply.

“Good, I, uh, I ‘ave somethin’ teh show yeh,” he says vaguely. Hermione frowns.

“Hagrid, what are you up to?” she asks. Hagrid’s dark eyes dart around the Great Hall once more, and he leans in a little closer.

“I can’t tell yeh now, but yeh’ll find out tomorrow,” With that, he glances around one more time and slowly ambles away.

“I wonder what he wants,” Ron says as we walk back to the common room. “He’s acting all secretive,” I shrug.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait,” Hermione sighs. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

Ron knocks loudly on the door to Hagrid’s hut, and Hagrid opens it a sliver, peering out.

“Oh, it’s jus’ you three,” he says, opening the door wider so the three of us can file in.

“What did you want to show us?” Ron asks as we take a seat at the round wooden table.

“Oh, uh, abou’ tha’,” Hagrid says, walking over to his fireplace. In the heart of the fire, beneath the kettle, is a ginormous black egg. 

“Hagrid… Is that what I think it is?” Ron asks, moving closer to the fire. Hagrid nods, grinning nervously.

“Yup. Won it off some bloke at the bar, few nights ago. Think he was glad ter get rid o’ it, teh be honest. Can’t imagine why, though,” The egg shakes a bit, and I jump back. What on earth is in there?

“Ooh, I think it’s ready ter hatch! Glad yeh can be here teh see it,” Hagrid reaches into the fire, hands clothed in fireproof oven mitts. 

“But, Hagrid,” Hermione starts. “What are you going to do with it when it’s hatched? You can’t possibly expect to keep a  _ dragon _ hidden for long. Besides, you live in a wooden house! What if it burns down?” Hagrid clearly isn’t paying attention to Hermione’s words, however, as he is much too focused on the egg, slowly cracking as it sits on the table. There is a loud scraping noise as the egg splits open. A small dragon flops onto the table. It sneezes, and a few sparks fly out of its nose and onto Hagrid’s tangled beard. He quickly pats out the fire and beams.

“I’nt that sweet. He knows his mummy!” I take a step back from the table. There’s a bloody  _ dragon _ just five feet away. How is no one else concerned? I glance around the room, trying to look anywhere but at the surprisingly large creature who just emerged. Directing my gaze to the window, I see a head of white blonde hair duck out of sight. Malfoy. Bloody git followed us here!

“Hermione, Ron, we have to go. Malfoy’s seen us, and he’s sure to tell a teacher.” We wish Hagrid luck and hurry towards the castle. We shouldn’t be in trouble, as it isn’t even past curfew yet. But I’m worried about what Malfoy could do to Hagrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 05/13/20


	16. Quidditch, Quidditch, and More Quidditch

Over the next week, Malfoy looks much too gleeful.

“We have to do something about that- that  _ creature _ , before Malfoy tells on us, and gets us all into trouble!” Hermione states one evening as we work on a Potions essay. “I can’t believe Hagrid would do this! He  _ knows _ it’s illegal to own a dragon!”

“I could write to my brother, Charlie,” Ron suggests. “He works with dragons in Romania, so he might have an idea of what to do,” Hermione and I glance at each other.

“It’s worth a try, but Hagrid will never want to give up Norbert.” Hermione says grimly. “It’ll take some serious persuasion on our part.”

She was right. It took plenty of well thought-out points, and of course Hermione’s brilliant logic, but eventually we had convinced Hagrid that Norbert would be completely safe, if not better off, in Romania. At breakfast, an owl drops a letter on Ron’s plate. He grabs it and rips it open.

“Oh, brilliant!” he says. “Charlie says he’ll take the dragon! His friends will meet us on the Astronomy tower on Saturday at midnight.” Hermione frowns.

“But that’s past curfew!” she exclaims. “If we get caught, we’ll be in real trouble!”

“We have my invisibility cloak,” I say. “So long as we’re careful, it should all turn out fine,” Hermione sniffs.

“Oh, alright,” she huffs eventually. “I’ll keep watch while you two bring Norbert up. That way I can warn you if someone’s coming.” 

Saturday night, Ron and I don the invisibility cloak, and carry a caged Norbert to the Astronomy Tower. It’s certainly no small feat, and I’m sweating dogs by the time we get to the top of the Tower. Charlie’s friends arrive shortly and strap Norbert’s cage between two brooms. Within fifteen minutes, Ron and I are alone again. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so glad that’s over,” I say. Ron just nods. I grab the invisibility cloak and we start down the stairs, almost running into Hermione.

“Shh!” she hisses. “Filch is just around the corner! Malfoy must’ve tipped him off!” I throw the invisibility cloak over the three of us, and we creep slowly down the stairs, hardly daring to breathe. Filch’s beady eyes glance right over us as we tiptoe back to Gryffindor Tower.

A week later, Hedwig drops off a letter addressed to me, Hermione, and Ron. Ron rips it open as I feed Hedwig a bit of sausage.

“It’s from Dumbledore,” Ron says. Hermione nudges him.

“Well go on, read it then!” she says eagerly.

“Aimee, Ron, and Hermione, I looked into your theory, and I no longer believe the Stone is safe at Hogwarts. Therefore, my dear friend Nicolas and I have decided it is to be destroyed. I must thank you for coming to me in this time of need, for who knows what terrors may have occurred if the Stone had stayed in its place. I hope all three of you are enjoying your time here at Hogwarts, and I wish you the best of luck on the upcoming exams. Sincerely, Professor Dumbledore.” We sit in silence for a moment. 

“Well this is fantastic news! We don’t have to worry about Snape anymore! He’s bound to be sacked any day now!” Ron says. 

“And now we can focus all our effort on studying for the end of year exams! Oh, this is wonderful news!” Hermione exclaims. Ron frowns.

“Don’t remind me,” he groans. “I still haven’t started that Charms project!” Hermione looks horrified.

“Ronald, we’ve been given since the beginning of term to do that project. It’s due in a week! Why in Merlin’s name have you not yet started it? For heaven’s sakes, Aimee and I finished ages ago!” Ron looks guiltily down at his plate.

“I dunno,” he says. “Guess I didn’t really feel like it, and besides, I couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork when we had all that Snape business going on!” Ron says defensively. Hermione sniffs, but I whisper to Ron that he can take a look at my project tonight. He smiles gratefully and mouths a silent ‘thank you.’

Even though the end of term is rapidly approaching, the Quidditch season is going stronger than ever. Oliver is pushing us harder than he has all year, practicing every morning and evening. I’ve barely been sleeping, and if it wasn’t for Hermione, I’d be failing all my classes, too.

“Alright, team,” Oliver says one rainy morning, after dragging us out of bed at 5 a.m. “We’ve got a big game coming up. Us versus Ravenclaw. Now, if we can win this game, we’re tied with Slytherin. And we all know beating Slytherin shouldn’t be a problem.” The team nods. While Slytherin has beaten the other Houses all year long, we’ve only lost to them once. We win the next two games, and we win the Quidditch Cup.

“Alright, let’s go!” Oliver leads the way onto the pitch. The rain is coming down even harder than when we woke up. 

“Aw, come on, Oliver, we shouldn’t have to practice in this!” Fred whines as the rain soaks through his robes.

“If we want to win, we have to practice in all types of weather. It’s good to be prepared.” The team groans. We all know we’ll beat Ravenclaw without trouble. While Chambers and Bradley are good Chasers, they have nothing on us.

I follow suit as the rest of the team mounts their brooms and pushes off into the sky, pausing for a second to wipe my glasses. The rain is making it impossible to see. I squint, searching the sky for the Snitch. A bludger comes out of nowhere and I barely duck out of the way. 

“Merlin, Aimee!” Angelina says, zooming past me with the Quaffle. “Be careful!” A glimmer of gold appears in the gloomy sky ahead of me, and I direct my broom towards it. A minute later the Snitch is grasped tightly in my hand. I drift to the ground, landing lightly. Katie gives me a high five.

“Nice job, Aimee! You were incredible, even in this dreary weather,” I smile.

“Hey, Oliver?” I call the captain. “I think I’m gonna head in. The rain is making it impossible to see, and my glasses keep fogging up.” 

"Oh, come on, Aimee! What happens if your glasses fog up during a match? What will you do then?" Oliver demands.

"Leave the girl alone, Oliver," Angelina says. "It  _ is _ pretty dangerous out here. I'm not sure any of us should be practicing." Oliver huffs, but eventually lets me leave. I hurry back to the castle to change out of my soaking wet clothes before breakfast. 

"I can't believe he's making you practice in this weather!" Hermione says as we walk to Defense. "What if you got sick? Then you wouldn't be able to play at all!" I snort.

"Try telling that to Oliver," I say. "He doesn't seem to understand the concept of sleep, either." Ron sighs wistfully. 

"At least you  _ get _ to practice. I would give anything to be on the team." I pat him on the shoulder. 

"Don't worry about it, Ron. There's always next year. Besides," I say reassuringly, "it was a fluke I got on the team in the first place." Ron brightens.

"Oh, you’re right!" he says. “I’ll just practice over the summer. Fred and George can help me. And then I can try out next year!” Hermione sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Hey, Aimee,” Fay sounds miserable. I set my bag down on my bed and walk over to hers.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. My mum wrote me, is all.” I take a seat at the foot of the bed.

“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask, frowning. The only letters I’ve received this year have been from Hagrid. Well, and Charlie, but that’s just because Ron doesn’t have his own owl.

“No, no, it’s just…” Fay pauses and wipes her eyes. “I got a horrid grade on my last Charms essay and somehow she found out. Suffice to say, she’s not very pleased. She just kept going on about how she and Dad weren’t going to continue wasting their money on a good education if I was just gonna throw it all away.” I place a hesitant hand on Fay’s shoulder. 

“Your mum’s pretty harsh, then, huh?” I say. Fay nods.

“I guess. Well, no. I mean, she just wants me to do well. Sometimes she just doesn’t see that I’m not Samuel. I’m not my brother. I don’t think  _ he’s _ ever gotten lower than an E on anything, and I’m lucky if I just manage an A!” Fay takes a deep breath. “In my mother’s eyes, Samuel can do no wrong, and having to live up to that, well, sometimes it’s just a lot.” I rub Fay’s back in what I hope is a comforting way. 

“Forget what your mum says,” I say. “ _ I _ think you’re brilliant. Just because you don’t always ‘Exceed Expectations’ in school doesn’t make you any less of a person.” Fay wraps her arms tightly around me.

“Great Merlin, Aimee. How did you become such a wonderful person?” she says as she pulls away. I just smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 05/13/20


	17. Facing Voldemort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, we're nearing the end!!

After a long, boring, theory-filled Defense class, Professor Quirrell stops me as the students start to file out.

“Ms. P-Potter, if I c-could have a w-word?” he asks. I nod, glancing back at Ron and Hermione.

“I’ll see you guys at lunch,” I say, giving a little wave as I walk toward Quirrell’s desk.

“What do you need, Professor?” Quirrell straightens a stack of papers on his desk and steps around to the front.

“H-How have y-you liked H-H-Hogwarts this year?” he asks, leaning back against the desk.

“It’s good,” I say, wondering where this is going. My stomach growls at the thought of lunch.

“G-good, I’m g-glad,” Quirrell says. “I-I’ve s-seen you t-talking with Professor D-d-dumbledore. H-he seems to have t-taken a s-special interest in y-you,” I nod slowly, still confused by what was going on.

“I mean, I guess,” I say.

“A-and for good r-reason, t-too. I-it is r-really incredible h-how you stopped the Dark Lord, when you were only a toddler,” Quirrell says. His stutter seems less apparent than before, but that can't be possible… Right?

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember it,” I say. I thought that by this point in the year we were past the whole 'fame thing.'

“But surely you know how you did it, I mean, you can’t just defeat the most powerful Dark wizard of all time and not remember how,” His stutter is definitely gone now, and I take a step backwards, closer to the door.

“Um, this has been a nice chat, Professor, but I really should be going,” I say cautiously. “Don’t want to miss lunch,” I try for a laugh, but it comes out strained.

“No, no, don’t worry about that. Your friends don’t need you right now. In fact, they probably won’t notice you missing for at least a good fifteen minutes. And that’s all I need.” He takes a step closer, almost within arm’s length, now. I glance around nervously.

“What was it you needed, again, Professor?” I ask. My heart is pounding. Quirrell isn’t acting right. Why isn’t he stuttering anymore? He moves even closer, if possible, and waves his wand at the door behind us. I hear the lock click. 

“Professor? W-what are you doing?” Even to me, my voice sounds high pitched and shaky. Quirrell is acting exactly like Vernon would on those awful, awful nights. All of a sudden the professor snaps his fingers and ropes appear out of nowhere, wrapping themselves tightly around me. I let out a cry of pain, struggling to get free. 

"You see, Potter, you're too nosy to live. You go digging around in others' business and you've gotten far too close to my secret." I stop struggling for a moment as the dots connect. How didn’t I see it before?

Quirrell's conversation with Snape in the woods, his fake stutter, how he knew about the troll before anyone else. Why was he in the dungeon in the first place, when the Defense classroom is on the second floor?

Oh. My. God.

"It's you! You're the one who's after the Stone!" I say. "But how? Why?" Quirrell twirls his wand and shakes his head.

"You were so set on Snape being the thief, weren't you? And quite the suspect he was, swooping around like an overgrown bat," I shake my head.

"No, but at that Quidditch match, when he tried to kill me! Hermione and Ron saw him, he was cursing my broom!" Quirrell chuckles.

"Yes, it did seem like that, didn't it? But no, dear girl, that was I, who was cursing your broom, and if that foolish Granger girl hadn't set fire to Snape's cloak and broken my eye contact, I certainly would have succeeded in killing you!" I struggle some more against the ropes.

"She's not bloody foolish!" I scream. A slightly panicked look passes through Quirrell's eyes, so quickly I almost don’t see it. He waves his wand and casts a silencing spell over the room.

"That's beside the point," he hisses. "I think you know how to get the Stone. I think you know how to get it, and I think you're going to get it for me." I shake my head frantically. 

"It-it was destroyed!" I say desperately. "I swear, I don’t have it!" Quirrell's face reddens in anger. He clearly doesn’t believe me.

"Let me talk to her," a raspy voice says from somewhere behind Quirrell. He wrings his hands together nervously.

"Master, are you sure? What if you are not strong enough!" Dear Merlin. He’s actually lost his marbles! Who in the bloody _hell_ is he talking to?

"Do not be disrespectful to me, Quirinus," the voice warns with a bitter edge. “I am still your Master.”

"Yes, Master, of course. I am sorry," Quirrell reaches up to his turban and begins to slowly unwrap it, I feel my heart beating through my ribcage, fast enough to burst. The purple wrapping falls to the floor as Quirrell turns around. I try to scream, but the sound is cut off by a quick wand wave from Quirrell. 

"Aimee Potter," the voice says, only now it's more than just a voice. There is a face, a literal face, with red eyes and slits for a nose, on the back of Quirrell’s head. 

“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you again,” it says. Quirrell takes a step towards me and I try to flinch, but the ropes hold me back.

“W-who are you?” I stutter.

“Ah, but Aimee, I’m offended! I thought you would recognize me! After all, it was only ten years ago that we were in a similar position.” I stop struggling as the truth dawns on me.

“YOU!” I screech, pushing and pulling on the ropes even harder than before. “You killed my parents! You got me landed at the Dursleys! It’s ALL-YOUR-FAULT!” I scream. Quirrell unconsciously takes a step away from me as the windows start to rattle. Am I causing that?

“My, my, child, I have never seen such anger in someone so young,” I let out another guttural shriek. Once again, Quirrell waves his wand, and, even though I still feel myself screaming, no sound comes out. 

“Now, let’s get back to the point. How do I get the Stone? Is it hidden somewhere in the castle? It must be, isn’t it? Otherwise Snape wouldn’t have been on our ass the whole year! But where? Where, goddammit!” I feel pressure building up behind my eyes as tears form. This is it. I’m not getting out of here alive, am I? The rage I’d had earlier dissipates, and is replaced with pure terror.

“P-please, I swear I’m telling the truth! Dumbledore told me he destroyed it!" The face smirks, a gruesome upturn of his lips.

“Ah, Aimee, see, I can tell when you’re lying. Just tell me where the Stone is, and I’ll give you something no one else could offer. You see, dear girl, I could bring back your parents. I really only killed your poor mother because she was standing in the way of you," Voldemort says, a shadowy image of my parents appearing in my mind. My eyes widen. Can he really do that? _No_ , says a voice at the back of my head. _Don’t be silly, no one can bring back the dead_. I scream again, the sound full of pure rage.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” I say. “My parents are DEAD! And it’s all- because- of YOU!” The room starts to shake, glass in the windows shattering and the desks crumpling to the ground. I clench my fists together in rage. The ropes fly off my back, and suddenly, I'm free. That doesn't matter though, not when the only thing I can think about is destroying the man who made my life a living hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 05/13/20


	18. Summer again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end :)

I find myself in a blurry, brightly lit room, lying on a bed. It’s quite comfortable, actually, but it smells a bit like antiseptic. My muscles protest as I force myself into a sitting position.

“Aimee! You’re awake! Oh, thank Merlin. Ron, get over here! She’s awake!” Hermione’s voice shouts eagerly from my right side. Her hand grips mine tightly.

“Mione? Could I get my glasses? I can’t see a thing,” I see the outline of her head bob up and down as she presses the wire frames into my fingers.

“Thanks,” I say, as the room comes into focus. “Merlin, I feel like I’ve just run a marathon.” I collapse back against the pillows.

“What’s a marathon?” Ron asks. 

“It’s a really long race, like 42 kilometers, or something,” I say.

“My dad tried to run one, once,” Hermione puts in. “It was dreadful. He couldn’t walk for days after.” Ron frowns.

“Why would anyone want to run that far?” he asks. I meet Hermione’s eyes and laugh.

“No idea,” I say. “So what happened to me? Why am I in the Hospital Wing?” Hermione and Ron exchange careful glances.

“Well, we don’t really know.” says Ron.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t tell us. All we know is that you never showed up to lunch, and then we were getting called out of Herbology to come here.”

“And how long ago was that?” I ask. I’m not sure I really want to know.

“The end-of-year feast is tonight, Aimee,” Hermione says carefully. I stare at her in shock.

“No, no no no no no! I’ve missed exams, haven’t I?” What if I don’t pass first year and I have to repeat it while Ron and Hermione continue on without me? Oh, within the week they’ll have forgotten about me! Ron crosses his arms.

“You’ve been out for two weeks and _that’s_ what you’re worried about? Merlin, you’ve spent far too much time with Hermione!” Hermione laughs.

“Well, she has a right to be worried about the exams! What if Dumbledore didn’t let her pass!” So he isn’t letting me pass? Oh, no, I’ve caused so much trouble, what if they don’t let me come back next year? I feel Hermione grab my hand again.

“Breathe, Aimee. Dumbledore excused you from all exams, and no, you won’t have to repeat them next year, either,” she says and I audibly sigh in relief.

“Oh good, that’s uh, that’s good. Thanks, Mione,” She smiles.

“Why did no one tell me Miss Potter woke up?” Madam Pomfrey shrieks, rushing out of her office.

“OUT! Both of you, OUT!” Hermione and Ron give me a pitying look, but do as Madam Pomfrey says.

“We’ll come back before dinner,” Ron says before Pomfrey shoos them out the door.

About a half hour later, after Madam Pomfrey has finished shoving hundreds of potions down my throat, Dumbledore appears by my bedside.

“Ah, Aimee, you’ve given us quite the scare these past couple weeks,” he says in that voice that shows _he_ certainly wasn't scared. Dumbledore is a man who knows what he's doing. And that frightens me.

“What happened to the Stone?” I say, ignoring his previous statement. “Did you actually destroy it? Was that really Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head?” Dumbledore holds up his hand.

“Shh, Aimee. Yes, dear child, the Stone has been destroyed. As for where it was, I cannot tell you. And as for your final question, yes, it was Voldemort. He was trying to regain his body and power through Quirrell. I am truly sorry you had to experience that, Aimee,” The apology is far from sincere, and I find myself wondering how I ever trusted the man before me.

“But what happened to me? Where is Quirrell? How did I get here?” Dumbledore sighs.

“Each witch and wizard has a certain amount of wild magic contained inside them. It’s what produces your accidental magic, as a child. Here, with Professor Quirrell, your magic acted out on its own. It saved you, Aimee.” I nod slowly. I _do_ remember getting very angry.

“But, sir, what happened to Quirrell?”

“Ah, I’m afraid your old Defense professor is no longer with us.” 

“You mean I killed him?” Dumbledore pauses.

“In a way, yes. But in many other ways, no. Quirrell’s soul was already corrupted, from spending an entire year sharing his body with Voldemort. There wasn’t much left of him to die. He rather just… stopped existing.” I nod slowly. I killed a man. Someone is dead because of me.

“It’s not your fault, Aimee,” Dumbledore says, placing a hand on my leg. I bring my knees up to my chest, away from his touch. “Now, I shall leave you alone to get some rest, but before I leave, do you have any more questions for me? I will do my best to answer.” I nod, thinking for a second.

“What happened… to Voldemort? Did he- did he die?” Dumbledore shakes his head.

“I wish I could tell you he did, Aimee, but alas, I will not lie. Voldemort is not dead, and I believe he will continue attempting to revive himself until he succeeds,” I nod, fear slicing my insides. I don’t ever want to go through that again.

“And, there was something he, Voldemort, said, that confused me. He said he only killed my mother because she was standing in the way of me. But why did he want to get to _me_? I was just a baby!” I insist. Dumbledore purses his lips.

“Alas, Aimee, I’m afraid I cannot answer this particular question. But all in good time, my child. You’ll find your answers all in good time. Now, I should be getting on, let you get some rest.” With that, Dumbledore stands up and strides away, his long robes swishing with every step.

Ron and Hermione stick to their word, and come back before dinner. After giving me another three potions to take, Madam Pomfrey lets me leave the Hospital Wing. 

Most people are already in the Hall when we arrive, taking a seat across from Seamus and Dean. Fay waves at me from down the table.

“You’re back!” she mouths. I smile and give her a thumbs up.

Gryffindor wins the House Cup, which causes every table but Slytherin to break out into applause. I can’t help but feel a sliver of satisfaction at the disgusted look on Malfoy’s face. 

The feast is delicious. I want to try everything in sight, but I also haven’t eaten anything other than potions in two weeks. 

I really, _really_ don’t want to go back to Surrey.

The train ride going home is rather uneventful. Slytherins walking by our compartment keep giving us dirty looks, angry about the loss of their winning streak. Ron makes a sound similar to a growl, and shuts the window shade harshly.

“So, do you have any plans this summer?” Hermione asks. I fold my knees into my chest.

“Nah, just gonna stay at home with the Dursleys. You?” Hermione shrugs.

“I think Mum and Dad were talking about going to Ireland for a few weeks, so that should be fun,” I nod, wishing I could go with the Grangers. Ireland sounds marvelous. Certainly better than the Dursleys. But then again, anything short of Voldemort would be better than the Dursleys.

“And you, Ron?” I ask. Ron’s face reddens slightly.

“Nah, Dad’s working all summer. Bill and Charlie might come home for a bit, though. Maybe you could come stay with us at the end of the summer! Mum’s dying to meet you, and supposedly Ginny hasn’t stopped talking about you since she saw you at King’s Cross!” I nod, trying not to get my hopes up.

“That’d be great! But, the Dursleys, um, they might not let me.” I say. Ron frowns.

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they let you?” My cheeks redden.

“Well, I haven’t seen them all year,” I say by way of explanation.

“Oh, okay.” Ron says. “It makes sense you’d want to spend time with your family.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I really would love to come, though.” I feel tears welling up at the thought of spending three months with the Dursleys. Instead of letting them fall, I close my eyes and lean against the window, soon drifting into an uneasy nap. 

Some time later, a hand touches my shoulder.

“Come on, Aimee, we’re at King’s Cross,” I nod and follow Hermione and Ron onto the platform, my legs shaking slightly in anticipation of seeing Vernon again. We grab our trunks and file through the barrier in twos and threes, so not as to confuse the Muggles. I spot the Weasleys immediately, that red hair is pretty hard to miss. Ron moves towards them, but I stop him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait, Ron, before you go, could I ask you something?” Ron nods.

“Of course! What’s up?” I take a deep breath.

“Could you maybe… take Hedwig for the summer? My cousin is allergic, see, and I don’t want to have to get rid of her,” It’s amazing really, how easily the lies come. Vernon would probably burn Hedwig if she came home with me. Ron nods again.

“Yeah, for sure! It’ll be handy to have another owl around, anyway,” I breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Awesome. Thank you so much,” I pass Hedwig’s cage to Ron, and he rushes off toward his family.

“Have a good summer!” he calls out behind him. Hermione spots her parents soon after he leaves.

“Are your aunt and uncle here?” she asks. I nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re around here somewhere. Even if they aren’t, don’t worry, they’ll get here soon,” I lie. I know they aren’t here. I know they won’t be coming.

“Oh, okay,” Hermione says. “My parents can always give you a ride if you need it.” I shake my head.

“Don’t worry about it, Mione. I’ll be fine.” Hermione smiles reluctantly.

“Oh, all right. Have a good summer, then!” she hugs me. “I’ll write you as soon as I can!” I wave at her retreating figure as she rushes towards her parents.

“Bye, Hermione,” I say softly. I wait until most of the Hogwarts families have filed out of the station before walking to the ticket booth.

“One ticket to Little Whinging, Surrey, please,” I say, sliding a five pound note across the counter. The woman looks up. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be riding the train by yourself?” she asks. I push the money a little closer to her.

“Ma’am, I need to get to Surrey. When is the soonest train?” The woman looks me over one more time before taking my money.

“There’s a train that leaves at 19:00 from platform eleven. That work for ya?” I hesitate. That’s still a two hour wait. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing before that?” I ask. The woman presses a few keys on her computer.

“Sorry, hon, that’s the earliest one.” I sigh. 

“Yeah, okay. Okay.” She passes the ticket to me and I take it with a smile.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Hey kid,” the woman calls as I start to walk away. I turn around. “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright?” I sigh.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m okay.” And I walk away to platform eleven, taking a seat on my trunk. This is gonna be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO! We're done! Thank you so much everybody who has read this and stayed with me! I hope you guys loved reading Twisted as much as I loved writing it!
> 
> Revised 05/14/20
> 
> I'm sorry it's taking so long to get the second book up. I swear I really am planning on writing it, I've just had major writer's block, and I can't get the words onto paper. Hopefully I'll have the first couple chapters done soon, though. Thanks for staying with me!


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